


Sometimes a Fantasy

by Politzania



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dildos, Eventual Smut, HoH!Steve, Identity Porn, M/M, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Phone Sex, Pining, Sex Toys, Shrimpy!Steve, blowjob, coffeeshop, handjob, phone sex client!Tony, phone sex operator!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-12 20:21:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7947736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Politzania/pseuds/Politzania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve works mornings at a coffeeshop in a downtown NYC skyscraper.  He’s got a slight crush on one of the customers who stops by for his daily dose of caffeine. Not that Steve would have a chance with the genius playboy (straight - SO straight) billionaire philanthropist, of course. </p><p>But Steve also moonlights as a phone sex operator, working for Fury Enterprises.  Anthony, an older guy still more or less in the closet and just starting to explore his bisexuality, becomes one of Steve’s steady clients. Along with the steamy scenarios they play out, they actually get to know one other.  Cue the identity porn with Steve's two worlds colliding (eventually)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Potential trigger - reference to physical/verbal abuse in the context of a D/s scene in Chapter 1

Nat handed him the extra-large cup with a smirk, and Steve checked the order she’d written on the side. Dark roast, triple shot of espresso and six sugars. She hadn’t bothered putting the customer’s name on it - she knew he’d recognize the order. He worked quickly to prep the order, then called out “Mr. Stark”. An elegantly-dressed arm wearing an expensive watch swooped in to scoop the cup off the counter -- Steve had made sure the top was on nice and tight -- and the genius (gorgeous) billionaire playboy philanthropist himself was heading off towards the executive elevators. Must be a busy day for him, as he usually took the time to say a word or two of thanks, or stuff a few bills in the tip jar. 

Sharon touched his shoulder to get his attention. “Oh, Stevie - you’ve got it bad,” she said, chuckling as she looked down at him. Nat nodded her head in agreement. He hadn’t realized his crush on the guy was so obvious. But could you blame him? Tony Stark was handsome, devastatingly charming and brilliant. And (sigh) apparently straight as an arrow; he was constantly on the cover of this tabloid or that, with a different pretty girl on his arm each time. And there was that whole “scoring with twelve out of twelve Maxim girls" rumor. But there was no harm in looking, and maybe dreaming, just a bit. 

When he’d interviewed for the job at the fancy coffeeshop on the ground floor of 200 Park Avenue (a straight shot from his dumpy apartment out at the end of the N line) Steve had been up front with the manager, a Mr. Coulson. “I have a disability that affects my hearing - an auditory processing disorder,” he’d said. “Background noise can make it nearly impossible for me to concentrate on what people are saying to me. I can read lips, more or less, and once I get to know someone, it’s easier to pick their voice out of the soundscape, so communicating with co-workers shouldn’t be a problem. But you wouldn’t want me on the counter, taking orders from customers. Otherwise, I can and will do anything else. Make the drinks, bus the tables, sweep the floor, clean the bathrooms. I’ll work the early shift and prep the food for the case. I just need the job.” 

And he did need the job. Especially if he wanted to start taking classes again, he needed this job. The insurance money was just about gone, and his brand-new night gig wasn’t guaranteed to cover the bills. Yeah, it paid decently, if you took into consideration the amount of time he was actually on the clock, but there was no real way to predict any given night’s earnings. It certainly wasn’t something he’d ever thought he’d ever be doing, or really even wanted to talk about. It was all Sam’s fault for even bringing up the idea in the first place. 

He’d met Sam during a group interview at the college radio station two years ago, where each applicant had to do a cold read of a news segment. In the quiet of the studio, where headphones blocked out all extraneous noise, Steve was in his element, the rich baritone voice coming out of his slight frame always a surprise. His mother had always been a stickler for correct pronunciation, despite having a strong Brooklyn accent herself. His talent for mimicry and a good sense of timing were useful skills as well. 

Once they’d been dismissed, Sam caught up to Steve. “Man, I don’t stand a chance - I could listen to you read the phone book. Bet the ladies love it when you talk dirty.” 

“I’m not really into ladies.” While Steve wasn’t as obviously out as some of his friends, (Wade came to mind), he had no problem making his orientation clear when it fit into the conversation. 

“Huh, my mistake,” and that’s all Sam said about it. They both passed the auditions and got to know each other as they worked overlapping shifts. Things were going pretty well - he enjoyed his classes and had a halfway decent social (and sex) life, for once. But then his mom got sick, and he had to quit school to take care of her. Steve had put his life on hold, and he hadn’t regretted a moment of it. But afterward, the patchwork of scholarships, grants and other subsidies that Steve had been skimming by on had unraveled. So he had to drop out. 

Sam was in his final year, double major in psychology and social work, and let Steve crash at his place until his mom’s probate case worked its way through the system and her insurance policy paid out. Sam had been invaluable to Steve during his darkest days; in retrospect, he wasn’t sure he’d have made it through without him. But being so close meant that he knew exactly how get under Steve’s skin. 

“Just need to find you a sugar daddy and you’d be all set. It’s a shame you don’t have the clothes to go clubbing...”

“Seriously, Sam? Have you ever seen me at a club? I can’t dance worth a lick, and there’s no way I could understand a word anyone spoke to me.” 

“You’ve got a few moves, Steve-o. And don’t underestimate the importance of body language!” Sam shimmied around the room, wiggling his eyebrows and shaking his ass in an intentional parody of sexiness. 

“Jesus, Sam, if that’s all you got, no wonder you haven’t gotten laid in months.” 

“Hey - I got some just the other night, I’ll have you know. But a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.” He paused for a moment, his ‘I have an idea’ look flashing across his face. “Steve, I bet if you got a job working a phone sex line, you could get yourself a couple of repeat customers, find out who’s sitting pretty and make your move.” 

“I don’t think it works like that, Sam. I really don’t.” 

“Could be worth looking into, bro. You’ve got plenty of experience being on mic; and I know you’ve got a filthy mind. How hard could it be? Pun intended.”

And then Sam wouldn’t let go of it - Steve getting a job as a phone sex operator. He kept sending articles and links to discussion threads online. Most of the workers interviewed were women, but surely it wasn’t that different for guys working in the industry. It looked to be halfway decent money; and the flexibility was a plus, allowing him to work another job, and maybe even go back to school someday. 

The interview with Fury Enterprises was (appropriately enough) over the phone. Steve had expected the equivalent of a casting couch, but Ms. Hill pretty much just went through the contract with him, explained how they operated, etc. An incoming client would be asked what they were looking for, and the dispatcher would match them with a performer (they called their employees “performers” at Fury Enterprises) with the requisite interests/abilities. Calls could be charged on a per-minute rate, or as blocks of time with the customer having the option to extend the block. The dispatcher lets the performer know what to expect from the call in terms of client preferences (if known) and rate type, so they can plan their call accordingly. 

“The per-minute clients will want you to get right to the good stuff, while the block callers probably want more of a scenario in mind, a story to go along with the phone sex. Any improv skills you have will be put to the test.” She went on to mentione that each performer has a virtual tip jar that their clients can donate to. “Most performers can pull in an extra 15-20% over their billed take every week. Just don’t be obnoxious about mentioning it. It’s part of the spiel the dispatcher gives before the caller gets turned over to you.” 

Ms. Hill then went into detail as to the types of calls he could expect - with BDSM elements being most common. Steve had never been into that scene, other than a bit of spanking in the heat of the moment and impromptu tying up, but he was open to the thought. “With your voice, I’d recommend adding Dom to your list of interests and abilities; but if you’re willing to play the sub role too, that opens you up to more calls.” she stated matter-of-factly. 

Steve raised his voice a half-octave and let it get a little breathy. “Yes, ma’am, whatever you want, just tell me what to do and I’ll be so good for you,” throwing a little moan into the ‘so good.’ 

She hummed approvingly. “Not bad, kid. A good imagination will take you a long way. There’s reading assignments in the hiring packet as well to help make sure you’re up to speed. We do have a hard line - nothing underage. Barely legal is OK; you, the client or both. But if they explicitly ask for a child, tween or teen scenario, you can and should hang up. It won’t be held against you. That’s why we record every call - if the client complains, we review and see what really went down.” 

That had been a concern of his. Steve believed he could role play even some of the more questionable kinks, but just the thought of child porn made him queasy. 

“As for your setup, you’ll need a computer -- nothing too fancy -- and and internet connection for the chat and tracking systems we use. Performers are expected to work at least one dispatcher shift a week. Six hours at $12.50/hr - with some flexibility as to when you take the shift. You’ll also need a landline, is that a problem?” 

“No ma’am.” One benefit of living in an old building; his internet might be slow, but the phone line was rock-solid. 

“I think that’s it, then. If you’re interested, we’ll bring you on for a 30 day trial period, at which point we’ll meet back for a formal review and go from there. I can send out the paperwork in the morning; but in the meanwhile, how about you listen in on a few calls, make sure this is something you really want to do?” 

She conferenced in one of her “old-timers”, a soft-spoken man named Bruce. The three of them chatted briefly, then Ms. Hill hung up. Bruce walked Steve thru setting up the IM client they used on his laptop, then put Steve’s connection into ‘listen only’ mode. 

Bruce’s first call was pretty much what Steve had expected, a fairly detailed description of relatively vanilla sex - oral leading to anal, with Bruce bottoming. Steve found himself getting a little aroused; after all, he’d had a bit of a dry spell, and both men sounded as if they were having a very good time. 

“So - what do you think?” Bruce IM’d him after the caller had rung off. 

“Sounded convincing from here. I assume you didn’t actually come?” Steve typed back.

“Oh no - after two calls I’d be done for the day. :^D Jacking off while on duty is a bad idea. Besides, not everything we deal with is gonna be a turn on for you. Case in point, I’ve got a regular who’ll be calling in soon. What he likes is ... pretty intense and certainly not for everyone. It might be a little tough to listen to. If you need to hang up, that’s cool. We can chat about it afterwards.” 

Bruce’s next caller sounded like he was at least in his 60’s and the scene ramped up immediately. Bruce became a loud, violent Dom abusing the hell out of his client, calling him a piece of shit and other insults. He told Thad just how tightly he was tied up and how he was whipping him for being such a bad boy. The actual sex he described was incredibly rough as well; in Steve’s all-too-vivid imagination, Thad was bruised and bleeding, inside and out. But it sounded as if he was really getting off on it, and he whispered a breathy “Thanks” before hanging up. 

“You still there, kid?” Bruce IM’d. 

“Um - yeah. Just... trying to process it all.”

“Don’t freak out - Thad is WAY out on one end of the bell curve . Most calls are only going to be a bit more kinky than the first one. The dispatchers won’t send you any known hardcore clients first off. And if you decided a new client’s kinks aren’t for you, put it in the notes and they’ll send him or her to another performer next time.” 

Before Steve could formulate a reply, Bruce added, “ And if you’re wondering - hell, no, I don’t get off on that at all. But I can cope with it better than some of the other performers, and it’s somehow cathartic. Helps me deal with my anger issues.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve signs up with Fury Enterprises, and starts taking clients. Most calls go well, (although one client is a little strange) but others less so.  
> At his other job, Steve has to deal with an asshole co-worker, but then has an encounter that brightens his day.

Steve reviewed the paperwork when it arrived. It all seemed on the up and up. And if you really thought about it, how was this any different than any other service industry? Instead of making people feel good by selling them coffee and pastries, he’d be selling them a sexual fantasy and self-administered orgasms. Just because it was their libidoes being fed instead of their bodies didn’t make it any less of a human need (even if he himself didn’t really feel that way). So Steve signed the contract and faxed it in from a local copy shop. He started his first shift that night. 

Over the first week, Steve averaged a dozen or so calls per four-hour shift, with more on the weekend. Most focused on quickie blowjobs, but several were full on sex, pretty much split between topping and bottoming. He quickly learned that when you’re only engaging one sense instead of four or five, you really have to play it up. He’d never talked so dirty in his life, using words that that his mother probably hadn’t even known (and would have sent her running for a pallet of soap if she had). He became skilled at moaning and gasping, begging and commanding as the situation required. As Ms. Hill had predicted, a few calls placed him in a Dom role -- including one where he talked the guy through about fifteen minutes’ worth of orgasm denial. 

Bruce had been right - some of what they asked for really didn’t do anything for him. He’d never been into humiliation, for example; and facials had always seemed a bit gross. Other calls had played more to his preferences and he’d gotten kinda revved up. Regardless he did his best to give his clients what they wanted, and moved on.

The reading assignments had been helpful in terms of kinks and terminology; the ability of the human psyche to get turned on by damn near anything (aka ‘Rule 34’) never ceased to amaze him. The notes that fellow performers wrote up on their clients was also useful. For repeat callers, he could call up their note history to build on what was there, and sometimes he just browsed through entries to get ideas. He returned the favor, of course, with quick write ups after each of his own calls. His imagination was definitely getting a workout and he idly pondered how this would affect his own sex life. 

Not that he had any at the moment. His first year or so at university had been his most active; with a couple of casual hookups leading to repeat encounters, but nothing seemed to last. Which, honestly, was fine by him. He just hadn’t seemed to click with any of the men he’d been with. He’d always figured he was somewhere on the grey spectrum to start with -- sex was fun while he was having it, but not the be-all and end-all it seemed to be for so many other people. As for romance, it would be nice to have someone love him for who he was; but the idea of actively pursuing someone was both intimidating and exhausting. For now at least, he was happy with his silly crushes - like his current interest in Tony Stark. 

Tony (he always thought of him as ‘Tony’ in the privacy of his own mind) still swung by the coffee shop almost every morning, and Steve made a point of always being at the pickup counter when his order was ready, hoping for some sort of acknowledgement. One morning, Tony gave a little salute after his first sip, saying “You are an angel in a polyester uniform,” and Steve was flying high the rest of the day. 

Sam thought he was joking when Steve said he couldn’t come over for movie night because he was working a shift on the phones. “You mean you actually went through with it? Holy shit, Steve! What’s it like?” He explained how the calls worked - most didn’t last more than about five minutes - and that he hadn’t gotten anything too out of the ordinary yet. 

Well, except for Stephen - make that ‘Doctor Stephen’. Steve knew when the guy had booked a 30 minute block that this would be an out of the ordinary call. The notes weren’t as helpful as he would have liked. “He’s a talker - lay back & enjoy - stock up on throat lozenges.” Turns out the guy had a rather elaborate roleplay in mind -- hypnotizing his partner into believing that their entire body was an erogenous zone and setting off waves of pleasure with a simple touch. 

Steve admired the man’s imagination and found it easy enough to play the role of his “subject”. As the good doctor described where and how he was touching and stroking, Steve provided the appropriate whimpers and moans, occasionally begging for more. They used nearly the entire half-hour, and Steve wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to look his neighbor in the eye again, thanks to his apartment’s paper thin walls.

Steve’s thirty-day review with Ms. Hill went quite well. The company tracked metrics like any call center would - his percentage of ‘on call’ vs ‘call prep/review’ time was good, and the other performers said they appreciated the notes he’d been providing on his clients. He also scored well in his dispatcher role, matching callers to performers quickly and well. Steve didn’t have any repeat customers of his own yet, but she said that wasn’t uncommon. “I’m sure within another month or so, you’ll start developing a client list. So, will you be staying on with the company?” 

Steve had to admit he found the work interesting and the money was pretty decent. He didn’t have to commute, pay for uniforms or dress clothes, or deal much with annoying co-workers. His shifts were flexible in terms of duration and start and end times. He’d managed to develop a thick skin working other service industry jobs and could shrug off insults and degradation with the best of them; especially since he knew it wasn’t truly directed at him, it was just part of how that particular caller got off. 

“Yes, ma’am. I’d like to continue working for Fury Enterprises.” 

It just figured that he’d have his first really bad experience that evening. Alexander asked Steve to roleplay as a barely legal teen, so he put on the persona and they got started. But after a few minutes, he started pushing Steve to play younger. “I need you to sound like you don’t even have hair on your balls, kid.” That raised a red flag. 

“Alexander, you were informed before the call started that we don’t do underage scenarios.”

“Yeah - but nobody needs to know, do they? I’ll make it worth your while. Stuff that tip jar full just Iike I’m gonna stuff my dick into that pretty little schoolboy ass of yours. C’mon, it’ll be fun. Daddy wants to play...” 

“Sir - I am ending the call now.” And he did. His hands shook as he IM’d Darcy, the dispatcher for the night. 

“Hung up on my last caller. He wanted to go underage. WAY underage.” 

“Well, shit. Sorry, hon.” she wrote back. “Acct flagged - M&N will review per SOP, esp if the asshole complains or disputes charge. If he came right out & asked 4 it, ur golden. Dipshit’s lucky we didn’t call the 5-0 on him. Bet he’s got a stash of child porn sitting on his hard drive right now.” 

“Thanks - think I’ll take the rest of the night off.” He was a little nervous at the thought of Ms. Hill and Mr. Fury reviewing the call, but he knew he’d done the right thing. 

“Gotcha - take care, sweetie :^)” 

 

Nat had called in sick, so an unfamiliar face joined Steve and Sharon behind the counter the following morning. 

“Name’s Brock Rumlow,” the man stated gruffly, pulling that asshat macho handshake bullshit on him. Ouch.

“I’m Steve, Steve Rogers. I’ll be working the machines this morning while you and Sharon switch off taking orders. I can usually keep up if your handwriting is clear enough on the cups.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Brock grunted, and stalked away towards the cash registers. Well, not everyone is a morning person, Steve thought. 

The A.M. rush was in full swing, with both Sharon and Brock taking orders, when Steve noticed that customers were piling up at the pickup counter. He turned to the order counter to see what was going on.

“Dammit, Rogers!” Brock yelled, “What the hell ...” and Steve lost the rest of the sentence. He assumed Brock was saying something about missed orders. 

“Sorry, Brock," he apologized. "I didn’t see any cups waiting for your register.” 

He'd had the same problem with Nat during his first week. She got busy with orders and started to call them out instead of making notes on the cups. But she had been gracious once he explained, and they'd worked together well since then.

Again, Steve only caught bits and pieces of Brock's rant: “I don’t have time ... damned codes ... What the hell ... dicking around?” as his co-worker stalked towards him. 

Sharon interjected, “Steve’s hard of hearing, especially over the background noise of all the machines we’ve got going. That’s why you need to write up cups, like I’ve been doing.” 

Brock had gotten right up in Steve's face by this point. “So, you think you're another special snowflake. huh? Jeez, between you, Murdock and Sousa, you’d think Coulson had a hard-on for hiring cripples.” 

Steve figured he could get one good punch in on Rumlow before the guy took him out. He thought back to what Bucky had tried to teach him before he shipped out overseas: “Put your whole body into it, aim for a spot a foot behind the guy’s face and for god’s sake, don’t tuck your thumb into your fist.” 

Sharon put an arm between the two of them, her voice low but deadly serious. “Brock, stop being an asshole and write up the damn cups.” She turned to Steve. “Steve, once we get caught up, let me prep the drinks for awhile. We’ll need to get the tables bussed and run a load of dishes through the washer soon anyways.” She glared at them both, and they reluctantly returned to their tasks. 

The only bright spot from that morning was running into Tony Stark... literally. Tony was cutting through the coffee shop -- maybe taking a shortcut to the back hallway -- when a small child Steve had seen running rampant through the shop apparently darted out in front of him. As he sidestepped the kid, he knocked into Steve, nearly racking him on the corner of the table he was wiping down. 

“Whoops!” Tony said as Steve momentarily steadied himself on the table before standing back up. Steve caught part what he assumed was an apology, and might have included something about singing soprano. 

“I’m okay,” Steve replied. He felt Tony’s hand on his shoulder, slightly turning him so they faced each other. 

“You sure?” Tony’s eyes flicked up and down his body, as Steve tried very hard to neither stare nor faint. “I really don’t need a lawsuit on my hands right now.” Tony’s lips quirked into a smile that made Steve’s heart skip a beat. 

“No worries, Mr. Stark. I’m just fine.” He smoothed down his apron, self-consciously. I have never been more fine in my life, he thought. 

“Good. And ‘Mr. Stark’ was my dad... you can call me Tony. After all, we see each other practically every day, don’t we? Hey, and look,” he gestured triumphantly, “I didn’t even drop my coffee!” He clapped Steve on the shoulder and was on his way. 

Stunned, Steve looked back across the shop and saw Sharon giving him a thumbs up and a cheesy grin. He spent the rest of his shift walking on air, mechanically loading and unloading the dishwasher, prepping the baking supplies for the next morning and reliving the best two minutes of his day. Hell, maybe even his week, his month... 

Steve got back to his apartment around noon, ready to take a nap. The commute home had been more of a bitch than usual, and he was drained. He set an alarm for 4pm, which would give him a couple of free hours to do a food run and maybe a load of laundry before he started his shift on the phones. He aimed for being call for at least four hours a night, from about 7:00 pm to 11:00, as that usually brought in around sixty bucks, plus any tips. He currently dealt with mostly east coast and midwest callers, but Fury Enterprises was popular enough to get clients from all over the US. 

Once he had enough cash saved to start taking classes again, Steve thought, he’d see about taking an overnight shift (eleven pm to four am), which would change his focus to the western half of the country. Then he’d go in for his shift at the coffee shop, go to class, come home and sleep. His only free time would be in the afternoon, around his class schedule, but it wasn’t as if he’d have much of a social life anyways, he thought, drifting off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed I extended the chapter listing - things are getting a little more involved near the end that I'd anticipated. Hope you enjoyed this little appetizer - the smut will arrive in the next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the rating and tag changes ...!!! I've also updated the total chapter count to 10. I thought I was done, but apparently there was more plot I had to cover before a smutty finale (that or I'm just putting it off).

It was actually a relief to put the headphones on, and log into the call tracking system that night. Steve had another window open with a collection of short stories to read in-between calls, as Thursdays were usually kind of slow. The chat window flashed “n00b caller, poss virgin, half-hr.” Translating from Darcy-ese, that meant an unestablished client who was possibly new to phone sex and who had booked a thirty-minute block. 

Good thing this was his first call of the evening and his brain was fresh, as he’d probably have to build a whole fantasy scenario for the caller. By the time he reached the end of a busy shift, it could be tough to keep his mind in the game, and certain words almost lost their meaning. He glanced up to his character sheet as he took the call. 

“Hey, my name’s Grant - hope you’re looking for a good time.” 

“Um, hi?” The man sounded nervous. “I’m T.. Anthony.” Steve guessed him to be somewhere in his 30’s or 40’s, and from the city, at least originally. 

“Hi, Anthony. What can I do for you -- or to you -- tonight?” He liked to start off a little flirty, to put his caller at ease. 

“Ah. That’s a good question. I’ve never done this before. Not so much the phone sex part, the guy on guy part.” So that explained the nerves. Anthony went on, a bit of bluster in his tone, “Not that I’m a virgin - lord no. The ladies love me, and vice versa. Trust me - if you knew who I was, you’d never guess I was anything but straight. Like I-80 across Nebraska straight. But.... I’m not.” He took a deep breath. “It’s taken me almost thirty years to admit to myself that I like guys, too. Porn can only get you so far, so I figured this was a safe, easy way to start exploring those feelings with another person.” 

Wow - Steve did not feel equipped for this kind of revelation from a brand new client. But here they were, and on the clock, to boot.. “No worries,” he responded, “we get all kinds of callers here. No judgement - in fact, I’m flattered to be your first time. I promise I’ll be gentle.” He let a touch of humor sneak into his voice with his last words, and the guy snorted a bit. 

“Yeah - sorry to dump all that in your lap - so to speak.” 

“I’m more interested in what’s in your lap, Anthony. What fantasy can I bring to life for you?” 

“Um, how about a blowjob? But, not just, like, jumping right in ... I’d rather kind of lead up to it.”

“Sure - how about this: we met at a club, and I’m taking you back to my place, with some foreplay before the main event?” He figured he’d be the one making the first moves, since Anthony was new to all of this. Even if he’d been watching plenty of gay porn, phone sex was different. 

“Yeah... and, uh, I like to be touched. Lots of touching, please.” His simple request was unexpectedly sweet, and Steve found himself charmed. 

“You got it, Anthony. Let’s get started... I’m opening the door to my apartment. It’s late, and we’re both still a little hot and sweaty from the club. I couldn’t keep my hands off you in the cab on the way to my place.” 

“Wait - what do you look like, Grant? I’m a visual guy, I need mental pictures here.” Steve quickly checked his notes. 

“Well, I’m about six foot two, right around two hundred pounds - I work out, but I’m not a gym rat. Blond hair, blue eyes, tanned all over...” 

“Jesus, Grant - are you reading my mind? You just described the star of the wet dreams I’ve been having for the past two weeks,” Anthony interrupted. 

“Sounds like this was meant to be, then, sweetheart.” 

He heard a surprised “Oh!” over the line. “Oh, I like that.”

“You like what?” 

“ ‘Sweetheart,’ ” Anthony said, “Would you say more stuff like that?”

“Will do, darling. And how about you? What do you look like?” Turnabout only seemed fair play. 

“Ah, nothing special. Not nearly as tall as you, maybe five- ten, five-eleven. Medium build; I do stuff like indoor rock climbing, so I guess I’ve got some muscles. Dark, wavy hair, brown eyes, mediterranean complexion.”

“Sounds like you’re just my type,” Steve purred, and he wasn’t lying. Anthony wouldn’t be that much taller than he was in real life, and he did like dark-eyed brunets. But this wasn’t about him, this was about his client. He’d better get things started. 

“We sit on the couch, and I lean in for a long, hot, deep kiss. I reach one hand under the hem of your shirt, stroking my hand up your side and around to your back, pulling you closer. And then my other hand is under your shirt as well, pushing it up over your stomach, my thumb sliding over your nipple...” 

“Mmmm, yes. More, please,” Anthony said.

“I take your bottom lip gently between my teeth, before licking my way back into your mouth again. I push you back, just long enough to get your shirt over your head.”

“Then I unbutton yours, so I can see that magnificent chest I’ve been lusting over all evening,” Anthony added. 

“Mmm-hmm... I like that,” Steve responded. He did enjoy it when his clients participated in the story, as it not only took some of the heavy lifting off him, but also showed that they were getting into the scene. “So, now that we’re both shirtless, I lay back and pull you over on top of me, so I can get my hands on that gorgeous ass of yours. My teeth graze your collarbone as I suck a series of marks all along it. I want to make sure you’ll remember me tomorrow.” 

“Like I could forget something like this,” Anthony groaned. “And I’m giving as good as I get, Grant. You’re gonna have to wear a damned turtleneck sweater to work.” This was getting fun, Steve thought. 

“You’re straddling my hips, grinding into me, Anthony. I can feel just how hard you’ve gotten and am looking forward to meeting that cock up close and personal. But I’m not quite done playing with your ass yet - I’ve got my hand down your pants, squeezing and kneading, tracing my fingers along your crack,” Steve paused for a moment. Anthony’s moaning had gone high and breathy, which he found unexpectedly distracting.

“Speaking of hands down pants, Anthony,” Steve said dryly, “are you jacking off already?” 

“That’s kinda the point of this whole thing, isn’t it, sunshine?” Anthony growled back in reply. 

“That it is, my dear, but I’ve still got a lot of story to tell you. Besides,” he added, checking the call timer, “we’ve still got fifteen minutes - wouldn’t want them to go to waste, would you?” Steve knew he was being a bit of a brat, and wouldn’t dream of speaking like this to most of his clients; but Anthony seemed to enjoy the banter and sass as much as the dirty talk. 

“Fine,” Anthony replied, “but as soon as your lips touch my dick, I’m going back in.” 

“Perfect. Now, where were we?” Steve asked chirpily. 

“You were grabbing my ass hard enough to leave finger marks, and I’m humping the hell out of your leg. Can we get on with it already?” 

“I run one hand through your hair, stare deep into your eyes, pupils blown wide with longing. I lick my lips, red and swollen from all the kisses. I tell you just how badly want to suck your dick. You stand, and I drop down to my knees, unbuckling your belt and unzipping the fly. Should I leave your pants on and just get you off like that?”

 

“No,” Anthony murmured, “Wanna feel your hands all over.” 

“Then I finish undressing you, getting my first look at your rock hard dick. I push you back on the couch, then run my hands up your thighs. You feel the back of my hand brush gently across your balls, then I cup them in one hand while the other ghosts up and down your length.” 

Anthony’s little gasp goes straight to Steve’s own stiffening cock. It doesn’t help that he’s describing something he personally enjoys: a slow, intense makeout session leading to oral sex. He’ll definitely have to sign off after this call for a little personal time. 

“I give you a couple of full, strong strokes up and down, and then my tongue -- not my lips, Anthony....” 

“Damnit, Grant - such a fucking literalist.” 

Steve chuckled. “My tongue draws a wide, wet, hot path from the base of your cock to the tip, swirling around a few times before you finally feel the touch of my lips.” The relieved moan he hears from Anthony indicates he apparently kept his word. “I tease a little, sucking gently, maybe a touch of teeth, then start a slow, wet slide down your shaft, my tongue weaving patterns as I go. I wait to feel your hand on the back of my head, urging me deeper.” 

“No,” Anthony panted, “don’t want to make you do anything.” 

“All right, darling. You feel your dick press against the back of my throat as I slide down the last inch or so to the root. My throat contracts around you, as I fight my gag reflex. My hands are on your hips, thumbs tracing slow circles over your skin as I look up into your eyes...”

And without a warning, Anthony’s sharp cry of pleasure made Steve thankful for the dynamic volume control headset he’d just purchased. He was surprised by how quickly Anthony had reached climax..... as well as a little smug. But then Anthony’s breathing went ragged, and he heard a muffled sob. Shit. 

“Anthony, sweetheart. Shh... it’s okay. Take a nice deep breath. Here, listen to me.” He inhaled deeply (hoping not to trigger a coughing fit), held the breath a moment, then let it out slowly. “Like that. In... and hold.... and out. I’m right here. I’ve got you in my arms, your head on my chest. I’m stroking your hair, kissing your forehead.” He continued in that vein, and after a few moments, Anthony heaved a large sigh.

“Well, wasn’t that pathetic...” 

“Don’t worry about it, honey. Want me to stay on the line? You’ve got a few more minutes. I can put some music on...” 

“Please.” Steve brought up his Swing Instrumentals playlist and turned up the volume so Anthony could hear through the phone. As “Stardust” floated out of the speakers, Anthony asked quietly, “Can I call you again?”

“Of course - just ask the dispatcher if extension 0704 is available.” 

“What if you aren’t?” 

“Well, you could set up a regular appointment - say, about this time every week?” 

“Don’t want to wait a week,” Anthony muttered, sounding tired and a little petulant. 

“I’m available tomorrow night,” Steve offered. 

“Can’t. Gotta go out of town for a few days.” He yawned. “I’ll have my people call your people, figure something out. 0704, you said?”

“Yep - my birthday. When I was little, I thought the fireworks were just for me.” 

“That is absolutely adorable, Grant. I better let you go - time is money in your biz. Thanks.” 

“You’re very welcome, Anthony. Take care.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally - we get to some Steve/Tony interaction and the promised smut! Hope you liked it - there's more coming (in both senses of the word) in Chapter 4.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has another close encounter with his crush at the coffeeshop, then hangs out with Sam one evening before another phone call with his new favorite client. Anthony proceeds to return the favor from the previous call, and penis ensues.

Tony Stark stopped in at the coffee shop a little later than usual on Tuesday morning. Once he’d placed his usual order, he added, “God, I missed this place. You’d think that Brazilians would have coffee figured out, wouldn’t you?” Steve had to turn away to prep his drink, so he missed the rest of the brief conversation. He snapped the lid on and placed the cup on the counter, having learned from experience that Tony didn’t like having things handed to him. 

“Here you go, Mr. Stark,” At his customer’s raised eyebrow, he corrected himself. “Sorry. Tony.” 

“You are a man of many talents, Steve. I just might have to bring you along on my next business trip,” Tony grinned, and then went his merry way. Steve was dumbfounded, not at all sure how to take that comment. Once Tony was out of earshot, he confronted Sharon. 

“What the hell did you tell him?” She blinked in surprise. 

“He just said how much he loved our coffee, then asked who to thank for the amazing blueberry scone he had last week. I said you had baked them from your mom’s recipe. That was all. Really.” 

“Oh. Sorry.” Of course she wouldn’t have said anything to Tony about the immense crush her fellow barista had on him; and it was absolutely impossible that he would in turn want to whisk Steve away into the lap of luxury. Tony was just making a joke.

The rest of the week was uneventful. Steve took Wednesday night off to hang out with Sam at his place. They hadn’t seen much of each other since he'd moved out and he missed their conversations. 

“So - how’s the sexy phone times gig treating you, Steve-o? Got any sugar daddy prospects yet?” 

“No, Sam. We can get in trouble if we ask for any personal info, or if we give it out. All we usually exchange with clients is first names - and they’re usually fakes on both sides, I imagine. 

“Aw, I’m just teasing. But it’s going okay? Nothing too weird?” He told Sam briefly about Stephen (which he thought was entertainingly kinky) and then Alex. Sam agreed that the guy needed help, if not jail time. Steve then asked how Sam’s internship at the local VA counseling center was going. 

He replied that he’d been sitting in on group sessions (with the participants’ permission) and assisting with the mountains of documentation these men and women had to fill out to get the help they needed. “So much paperwork, Steve. I’ve had soldiers tell me they’d almost rather be back under fire outside Bagram than deal with the bureaucracy back home.” 

When Steve logged in on Thursday evening, he had a new message in his mailbox:  
“Standing appointment requested by existing client - Anthony. 8:00pm Thursdays - 30 min minimum with option for an hour. Notify dispatcher if you accept.” Hm - full sentences and proper punctuation. Bruce must be working the switchboard tonight. He wrote back

“Appointment with Anthony accepted. What’s the protocol?” 

“Plan on being online at least few minutes early each week. If you can’t make it for some reason, let us know ahead of time if possible, so Maria can contact the client.” Well, of course someone had to know who their clients really were; otherwise how would they get paid? Or, in cases like Alex’s, alert the authorities? But he hadn’t really given it much thought up til then. 

Steve was a little nervous, waiting for Anthony’s call to come in. He’d found his mind drifting back to their conversation, wondering if he’d said the right things, had been reassuring enough. He felt a little out of practice in dealing with other people’s emotions. Sam was really the only friend he had at the moment; what with Bucky still having a year to go on his tour. And Sam was pretty much a rock when it came to mental and emotional stability. 

Steve hadn’t dated anyone since before his mom got sick - and that had been over a year ago. Nat and Sharon were co-workers; while they got along, they didn’t socialize outside of the coffee shop. That meant Steve spent a lot of time in his own head, and that wasn’t always the healthiest place to be. His phone rang, and he picked up. 

“Is that you, Grant?” 

“Sure is, Anthony. Guess you liked what you heard the other night.” Steve fell right into the same flirty, self-assured persona he’d used in their previous conversation.

“Dear god, yes.” 

“Want more of the same?” 

“Well, actually I’d like to switch it up a bit. What do you like? Walk me through how to give you the best blowjob you can imagine. After all, don’t I owe you one?” Anthony sounded more confident, which was good, but Steve was a little thrown off his game. To be honest, he’d given more head than received it, (and even those numbers were pretty damn small) and Anthony’s request made him feel oddly vulnerable. 

“Okay, so do you want a whole scenario again?” 

“Of course, give me the whole nine yards, you music maker, you dreamer of dreams.” 

Steve actually had to stop and think about what he would want; not just the sex, but the foreplay too. Then how to build on their previous call and the connection they seemed to have made. But he thought he had a pretty good handle on his client (so to speak) and started in with the story. 

“Since our first encounter went so well, we decided on a second round the following night. We get back to your place, and you pull me over to the couch. I’ve still got a bit of a beard burn, so you’re gentle with your kisses, at least at first.” 

“I like where this is headed... go on, go on...” Anthony interrupted. 

“Once again, you can’t wait to get my shirt off, in fact, I think I lose a button or two in your haste.” Anthony laughed quietly at that, which pleased Steve immensely. “You trace your mouth down my chest -- hard, sharp kisses leaving marks behind.”

“Hey, I forgot to ask last time, any tattoos or piercings, Grant?” The sudden question startled Steve into answering honestly. 

“No - I’ve had enough of needles - don’t want them near me again, if possible.” 

“Mind if I ask why?” Anthony’s voice was unexpectedly gentle. 

“It’s just... I was sick a lot as a kid. In the hospital more than a few times. Got held back a year in elementary school since I was out so much. I’ve actually had people suspect I was a junkie, due to the needle tracks.” Anthony hummed in sympathy. “What about you?” 

“Promise you won’t laugh?” 

“I told you before, no judgement here,” Steve responded. “Unless it’s something misspelled, then I might not be able to help it.” 

“I got the molecular structure of caffeine, placed right over my heart. Got the ink as a present for myself when I graduated from M.I.T. Had to use a fake ID.” 

“M.I.T? Impressive! What was your major?” 

“Double major, actually: mechanical engineering and applied physics.” Steve heard a hint of justified pride in the response. 

“Wait a minute - did you say you needed to use a fake ID to get the tattoo? How old were you when you graduated college?” 

“Seventeen,” Anthony mumbled. 

“And you double-majored. At. M.I.T. In really tough courses. While the rest of us were still dicking around in high school. You must be some sort of genius!”

“Tell that to my dad - he wanted me to go for a computer programming degree, too. I told him I already knew everything I needed, but he wanted to see that little piece of paper that proved it.” Anthony’s voice was bitter, and Steve realized he had tread on sensitive ground. 

“Well, seems we’ve gotten a little off course here, loverboy. I believe you were going to write your name in hickies across my chest?” That got another chuckle out of Anthony, and broke the tension. 

“That or trace your nonexistent tattoos with my tongue, either is good.” 

Steve continued. “Speaking of that talented tongue, it’s drawing slow circles around one of my nipples, while you roll the other between finger and thumb, not quite pinching. You’re sitting on my lap again, knees to either side of my hips. I’ve gotten your shirt off and am digging my fingers into the muscles of your back as I moan appreciatively.” 

“I can feel your cock throbbing against mine as I grind down on your lap,” he replied huskily. “I want to suck your dick, Grant. Please.” Steve turned his honest gasp into an over the top moan - Anthony wasn’t supposed to be turning him on like this. 

“Your wish is my command. I grab your ass with both hands, stand up and carry you into the bedroom, while you climb me like a tree.” Hell, if this was supposed to be his fantasy, he might as well go all out. 

“Oh my god, that’s hot!” he panted. “Never dated anyone who could pick me up. Though maybe I shouldn’t have said “no thanks” to that Ukrainian Olympic shotputter.” 

“Focus, Anthony...” Steve gently coaxed. “So, we tumble on the bed and strip down the rest of the way. You reach into the nightstand and bring out a bottle of flavored lube...” 

“Wait, I’ve never been to your place before - how would I know where you keep your supplies?” 

Steve sighed. “I retract the ‘genius’ label. Where else would a gay guy keep lube?” He was really getting distracted by Anthony’s questions and side comments. “Sweetheart, what’s going on?” He tried not to sound as annoyed as he felt. “Is this scenario not doing it for you? We can try something different.” 

“No, Grant, that’s not it. Really not it. Trust me, you are tripping my triggers in all the right ways,” Anthony reassured him. “It’s just that... I don’t want to fall apart again afterwards, like last time.” 

“Anthony, I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to...” Steve felt stricken with guilt. 

“No, no, honey - you were wonderful, staying on the line and making sure I was okay. I just don’t deal well with being vulnerable. I should have warned you that I’m kind of a control freak. Hm - how about I finish telling the story, with you chipping in every once in awhile? 

“Okay - if you’re happy with that...” He supposed it wouldn’t be much different than the scene he’d worked with Stephen.

“Yeah, let’s try that. So - I just got the lube out, right? I warm some between my hands, reach over and take a firm hold of that magnificent prick of yours. I lean in for another deep kiss while I stroke you, all the way up and down.” 

“I pull you closer,” Steve added, “take your dick in my hand and place them together, both our hands wrapped around them.” 

“Really? That’s a thing? Seems kind of...”

“Swear to god, Anthony, if you say ‘gay’, I am going to reach through the phone and cockpunch you.” 

“No - I was going to say ‘unwieldy’,” he protested. “And I thought you loved my cock.” 

“Don’t knock it til you’ve tried it, hot stuff.” Steve had been pleasantly surprised himself, the first time his partner took them both in hand. “And yes, I love your cock.”

“And it loves you too, honeybunch. Well, as good as it may feel, I want to move on to the highlight of the evening, getting your prick down my throat. Where do you want me? On my knees? Between your legs?”

“Flip around, let’s try a little sixty-nine.” They took turns describing exactly what debauchery they were performing on the other; with Anthony demonstrating a surprising amount of creativity. His tone of voice, combined with the filthy words, got Steve very hot. He was having trouble concentrating, and his moans were almost completely genuine. 

“I reach down to stroke your cheek, feel my cock filling your mouth, stretching your lips, God, Anthony, you’re taking it so good....” Steve found himself palming at his crotch, aching with the need for release. 

“Thanks, darling... must be my competitive nature. So, how do you want to finish? Gonna give me a pearl necklace?”

“I’d rather have you swallow, if you think you can handle it.” 

“Oh, I can handle it, Grant. Give me everything you’ve got... want to feel you deep down my throat, feel you shudder and shake as you come...”

And Steve did, a high whine pushing out from between his lips. Jesus, he had actually jizzed in his pants, something he hadn’t done since high school. He stifled a surprised laugh.

“Oh, Anthony, that was amazing,” he gasped. “Best I’ve had in a long time. A really long time.” He dropped his voice into a sultry whisper. “Are you close, darling? Are you going to come for me? I feel your muscles tensing, trembling as you teeter on the edge. Don’t hold back, let yourself go...” Anthony’s drawn out moan, punctuated with a series of “ohs” was all the reply he needed. 

Steve listened closely, but all he heard was the heavy breathing of a satisfied lover. “How was that, babe?” 

“Fucking amazing, sunshine. And amazing fucking, for that matter. I think you’ve spoiled me for internet porn. Now I just wanna roll over and go to sleep.” 

“Better clean up first, hon. You do not want to wake up sticking to the sheets. Trust me.”

“Yes, dear. G’night, Grant.” 

“Good night, Anthony.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed a second chapter of smut and sass - things will ramp up a bit between these two in the next chapter. ;^)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FYI - content tags updated - things get hotter and heavier between our boys.

Their next several calls ran much along the same line: a scenario with lots of foreplay leading to oral sex. Sometimes it was mutual within the scene, sometimes not. Steve still felt a little uncomfortable being the solo recipient of Anthony’s attentions; after all, he wasn’t the one paying for the experience. But Anthony assured him that he was getting just as much pleasure out of it.

“Trust me, sunshine. Hearing you fall apart is music to my ears... and my dick.” Steve wasn’t sure whether Anthony realized that he wasn’t always faking anymore. Steve tried resisting, behaving himself, but there were a couple of times he actually got himself off, playing along a little too intensely. 

Somewhere along the way, the endearments had moved from being part of the scene they were acting out to feeling completely natural, just like the banter had become a part of their overall interactions. There were other changes that had taken place since their first few encounters as well. Anthony had started off asking about the other calls Steve taken recently, as much out of plain curiosity as titillation, Steve suspected. He would share the scenario, especially if it were the kind of thing that turned Anthony on. But then he stopped asking, and Steve stopped telling. Instead, Anthony wanted to know more about him. 

“My imagination works so much better if I have something more to build on. Like, is your hair long enough for me to run my fingers through? Hairy chest or bare? Freckles? Are you cut or uncut? Inquiring minds want to know.” 

Sometimes Steve made something up on the spur of the moment - like when Anthony asked about any scars. Steve described a collection of white lines across one shoulder as being from when he’d scraped against the edge of coral reef while scuba diving. In reality, he could barely swim. Other times it was easier to be honest, like when Anthony asked about his experience coming out. 

“It was kind of scary, especially with my best friend. Even though I knew he wasn’t prejudiced, I wasn’t sure if it he’d treat me differently because we had always been so close.” Steve explained. “I mean, we were practically brothers - we’d taken baths together when we were little and gone skinny dipping many times since. Hell, I’d stayed over at his house just the week before and we slept on the floor under the same set of blankets. So I was worried he’d kind of freak out. But when I tried to ease his mind by explaining that I wasn’t attracted to him that way, he was actually a little offended. ‘What do you mean you don’t think I’m cute, pal?’ he said. ‘I’ll have you know I am a prime specimen adored by men and women alike!” 

Anthony laughed. “How old were you, anyways?” 

“Oh, only about fourteen or so. He was actually still a little pudgy at the time, hadn’t started his growing spurt. Don’t get me wrong, Buck’s a handsome guy, he just doesn’t do it for me.” 

“And what about me, Grant?” 

“Fishing for compliments, sugar? I’ve told you - I have a thing for dark hair and dark eyes, a man who’s a snappy dresser with well-trimmed facial hair.” He realized he was visualizing Tony Stark and rolled his eyes at himself. Now, wasn’t that a little rude, to be thinking of his crush while talking to a client. No, not just a client. Not anymore.

Because it wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried to imagine what Anthony really looked like; what he would find out about him if they ever met. Did Anthony tan to a darker brown, or burn in the sun? Were his hands were smooth and soft, or rough and calloused? Did he close his eyes when he came, or watch his lover’s face intently, focused as much on their pleasure as his own? 

 

“Hey there, sexy,” Anthony purred, as soon as Steve picked up for their usual Thursday night session. “Guess what? I bought myself a little present.” Anthony sounded much too pleased with himself, and Steve was a little leery of what that might mean. 

“And what would that be, hon?” 

“Well, it’s about seven inches long, about an inch and a quarter thick and shaped a whole lot like a penis.” Steve felt his mouth go dry. While the idea turned him on more than he’d ever imagined, he was also a little concerned as to what Anthony had in mind.

“So, you ever played with one of those bad boys before?” He tried to sound casual, to tamp down his mingled feelings of arousal and alarm. 

“Not as the catcher, sweetheart. Was hoping you’d be my first.” 

“You are going to be the death of me, you have no idea...” Steve blurted out. 

“But you’ll die happy, now, won’t you? C’mon baby... I know you can make it good for me.” Yes, he was going to be dead by the end of the night. Absolutely dead. But he had to give it his best shot first. 

“All right, darling, but you’re going to have to listen to me, to do what I say.” 

“Oh, Grant, I love it when you get all Dom on me.” 

“I’m serious, Anthony. I don’t want you to hurt yourself, or have a bad experience.” Steve had been fortunate to have a considerate, patient partner for his first time bottoming, and it had made all the difference. 

“Sorry, sunshine. I’ll behave.” And Anthony actually sounded at least a little contrite. 

“Good boy. I assume you have lube? The real stuff - not lotion or petroleum jelly.” 

“Give me some credit, honeybunch. Got a brand new bottle right here.”

“How about a towel? Don’t want to sleep in a wet spot on the sheets.” 

“Oh, hadn’t thought about that. Be right back.” Steve heard some rustling as Anthony set the phone down, presumably getting out of bed to get a towel. Steve indulged his imagination for a moment, imagining that he was there, watching his lover cross the room wearing nothing but a smile. More fabric rustling, then Anthony picked the phone back up. 

“Douglas Adams was right - you should always know where your towel is. I’m ready when you are, babe.” 

“One last question,” Steve added, “So, is your toy staying a toy or....” 

“No,” Anthony immediately responded. “I want you, Grant. Want you inside me, filling me up, your body pressed close to mine. Make love to me.” 

How could he refuse that request? Not that he wanted to, since it had been so long since he’d felt that intimacy himself. “It’s going to take a little while to get there, sweetheart, but I’ll make sure you enjoy the journey. We’re naked in bed together, and I’m running my hands all over your body, feeling the warmth of your skin against mine.” 

“You’re nuzzling the back of my neck,” Anthony added, “your hands tracing down my sides, to my hips. I can feel your rock-hard prick rubbing up against my ass...”

“I told you, honey, not so fast. I slide my hand down between us, cupping your cheeks, tracing a finger gently between them. I move my hips back, so I have a little more room to maneuver. I put some lube on my fingers,” and he waited until he heard the click of the bottle opening. “More than you’d think. That’s why we put the towel down.”

“Got it,” was Anthony’s terse reply. 

“I spread you open a little way with one hand, then rub one finger gently against you. Slow circles, waiting for your muscles to relax before applying any real pressure.” Anthony gasped, but Steve couldn’t tell if it was due to the coolness of the gel, or the actual contact. “Nice and slow - we’ve got all the time in the world.” He waited, listening for Anthony’s breaths to quicken. 

“I feel you loosening up, and slide my finger in, not too deep. It might burn a bit,” he responded to Anthony’s sudden hiss, “so I wait for you to relax again, moving it just a little, in and out. How’re you doing, sweetheart?” 

“Feels a little strange. Good, but ... strange.” 

“Totally normal. Let me know when you’re ready for more.” At Anthony’s affirmative hum, he continued. 

“I slide my finger the rest of the way in, feeling just how hot and tight you are. Getting so hard, just thinking about having my cock inside you, babe. I start sliding that finger in and out, nice and gentle.” Anthony’s quiet “Oh” made him feel a little dizzy. He’d never been anyone’s first; and he ached to actually be there, to be touching Anthony like no one had before. 

“Ready for a second finger, dearest?” 

“Yes,” came the urgent reply. 

“I pull out, but for just a moment. I apply more lube, then rub them both against you before sliding back in, shallow at first, like before.” 

This time Anthony grunted, then quickly added, “ ‘M okay, loverboy, just give me a moment...” He inhaled deeply, then blew out the breath. 

“I know...” Steve said reassuringly, “it gets easier, darling, I promise. Just try to stay relaxed, nice slow breaths. Maybe should have gotten you off first, calmed you down a little.” 

“Nah, I’m too damned impatient. Always have jumped in with both feet, so to speak. Okay, I’m good. Ready for more.”

“I slide both fingers the rest of the way in, then gently spread them apart, and back together. Slowly stretching you, getting you ready to take my cock.” As Anthony’s breath stuttered, Steve murmured words of praise. Steve talked Anthony through more scissoring, then adding a third finger. His own heart raced at the thought of feeling Anthony’s body opening to him, welcoming him in. He was so incredibly hard it wasn’t even funny, but didn’t want to distract himself at this point in the story. 

Anthony suddenly yelped, then moaned ecstatically, “Holy shit, what was that?” 

“Feel like stars exploding in your head? Congratulations, you found your prostate. Neat, huh?”

“Understatement of the year, sunshine. Can we get the show on the road?” Anthony was breathing heavily, but steadily, little moans escaping as he continued (Steve assumed) to fuck himself on his fingers. 

“You sure you’re ready?” Steve knew he was being overcautious, but he couldn’t help himself. He felt responsible for Anthony’s pleasure, for giving him the best experience possible. And at the same time, Steve wanted so badly to be there in person -- to see and feel him yielding so sweetly to their mutual desire. 

“Jesus, Grant. If I’d known you were going to be such a pain in the ass...”

“Exactly what I’m trying to avoid, Anthony. I’ll fuck you into the mattress another time; make you walk funny for a week. Promise. But this time, I want to be gentle. To make love, just like you asked.” 

“Aw, honeybun, I didn’t know you cared. But I swear I’m loose, and wet, and so, so ready. I need you inside me as soon as goddamn possible.” 

“Just a few moments more, darling. I keep fingering you, a little faster and harder, as I get myself ready with your help. First the condom, then plenty of lube. As I withdraw my fingers, I pull you up on your knees.” 

“No,” Anthony breathed. “I want to see you. Want to touch, to kiss you.” 

“All right, baby. But for real, for what you’re doing, lie on your side, knees curled up a little. It will be easier that way.” 

“Gotcha. Um, I’m ready.” He sounded a little nervous again.

“You’re lying on your back, and I’m kneeling between your legs. I hitch one of them up, spreading you wide enough for me to push my cock against you, the tip barely sliding in.” Anthony’s breathy groan finally drove Steve to action, plunging his hand into his sweats and grabbing hold of his throbbing, aching dick. His moan of pleasure brought a quick huff of laughter from Anthony.

“About time you joined the party, hotshot. Gonna give me what I need?” 

“Yes, darling, yes. I slowly thrust into you, feeling your tight wet hole envelop my cock. Keep breathing, sweetheart, don’t tense up. You feel every inch of me inside you, filling you up, like you always wanted. I’m kissing you, breathing you in, holding you close as we start to move together.” Steve was thrusting urgently into his own hand, pre-come slicking the way. 

“I take a hold of your cock - start stroking you, just the way you like it. I want us to go over the edge at the same time, baby. You’re taking me so good, I can’t hold back. I’m so close, sweetheart...” Steve heard Anthony cry out his name (no, Grant’s name) in ecstasy just before he himself came harder than he had in months, maybe even longer.

It took a few moments for Steve to clear his head, to tune back into the world. Anthony was breathing hard, mumbling “oh my god, oh my god...” 

“Anthony, talk to me. Tell me you’re okay.” 

“I am so much better than okay, sunshine. Grant, I think I...” Anthony cut himself off mid-sentence, then sighed. After a moment, he continued. “I think I better send my assistant an email and tell her I’ll be in late tomorrow.” He took a breath, then made a small grunting sound. “Yeah - the towel was a really good idea. Oh honey, that was better than I’d ever imagined. Not sure I’ll be up for it every time, but we are definitely adding this to our repertoire.” 

“It was something else over on this end too, dearest. Talk to you next week?” 

“Sure thing. Sweet dreams, Grant.” 

“Likewise, Anthony.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constant Readers: After three chapters of sexy funtimes, the Plot is kicking back in for the next several chapters. If you're just here for the smut, come back for Chapter Ten. If you're here to see what these two Idiots In Love are going to be dealing with next, read on. Things are going to get a bit bumpy, but I do promise a Happy Ending.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Anthony continue to get to know one another; however, Anthony’s over-generosity when Steve gets sick causes some conflict and hurt feelings. Bonus: An email from Bucky provides an interesting tidbit of info.

November had never been good to Steve. Ten years ago in November, his father left. Two years ago in November, Bucky shipped out. Last November, his mother passed away. So when he got sick (as he had in many Novembers past) it was no surprise. Steve was sure he’d woken his long-suffering neighbor up with his coughing, and he found himself rubbing his breastbone to try to ease the ache. 

The day before, Nat had sent him home five minutes after he arrived. “Steve - people are not gonna want you hacking up a lung into their lattes. Go get some rest.” He knew better to argue with her, so he went home and slept. He woke up around eight, logged in to take some calls, but had to pack it in about an hour into his shift, as his head was feeling too fuzzy to stay focused and he kept having to hit the mute button every time he coughed. 

The next morning, Steve called in sick to the coffee shop, then spent the better part of an hour rummaging through some boxes he hadn’t yet unpacked. He found an old, expired inhaler with a few puffs left. It gave him some relief, but not much. He ate a little soup, then slept through the afternoon, after setting an alarm so he could be logged in for his other job early. 

Anthony’s standing appointment had moved to 10pm, for an hour with an option to extend (which they took, often as not). They’d missed a few Thursdays over the past few months due to Anthony being out of town, but if he knew far enough ahead of time, they’d reschedule for when he returned or talk earlier in the week. But tonight, Anthony asked if he could call early, around 8 o’clock, since he had a “thing for work; gotta go be social, do some glad-handing. I could use a friendly voice to kick off the night.” 

Steve usually logged off after talking to Anthony; more and more because it just didn’t feel right talking to someone else like that afterward. Even though they almost always got off at some point during the call, most of the time spent together was in casual conversation. They discovered that both their best friends were in the military; Bucky in the army, of course, and Anthony’s friend, Rhodey (who was his roommate his first year at M.I.T), was an airman. 

Anthony spoke fondly of Rhodey, and shared some stories from their college years. As he talked, Steve realized that Anthony’s experiences had been very different from his own. Maybe it was the two decades that separated them (something he very rarely dwelled on), or maybe it was the contrast between a prestigious technology-oriented university and a small liberal-arts oriented campus. 

They also talked about their co-workers. Steve couldn’t quite tell if Obie was Anthony’s boss or not, it was hard to tell from the way he talked about him. Either way. he was definitely a mentor to Anthony; maybe even a father figure. Anthony’s ‘terrifyingly efficient assistant’ reminded Steve more than a little like Nat, even down to the red hair. “And then there’s Happy. It’s an ironic nickname, kind of like calling a linebacker ‘Tiny’. He’s a good guy once you get to know him, but he’s pretty intense at first meeting.” He sounded a little like Bruce; mild-mannered in general, but with a ferocious temper. 

When Steve asked Anthony what he did for a living, he made vague references to being a mechanic, a technician. “A bit of a jack of all trades. I like to tinker.” Steve assumed Anthony’s skill set must be high in demand, what with all the traveling he did, in addition to having an assistant. Anthony had called once from what he called “his workshop”, but the noise of the machinery in the background, along with the classic rock songs blaring from the speakers had made it nearly impossible for Steve to understand anything he was saying. Once he explained his condition, Anthony apologized profusely, saying he wouldn’t call from there again. 

When Anthony asked about what he did, Steve was equally evasive. After all, there wasn’t anything interesting about working at a coffee shop. He did say he was working on an art degree, but was “taking a break” at the moment. Anthony had taken a few drafting classes as part of his engineering major and they spent one evening talking about their preferred tools and techniques. Anthony was a fan of tablets; while Steve preferred old fashioned ink and paper. 

Over the course of their conversations, Steve realized that Anthony spent as much time in his own head as Steve did... and was just as lonely, if not more so. They had developed an odd sort of friendship, despite neither of them knowing each other’s real name or having any contact other than through these weekly calls. So when Steve tried to hide how sick he was with copious amounts of tea and lemon, Anthony immediately knew something was up. 

“Sweetheart, you sound awful - what did the doctor say?” 

“Haven’t been to see a doctor.” 

“Why not? Too busy?” 

“Too poor. Don’t have insurance.” Actually, Fury Enterprises did offer medical coverage, but you had to have worked there at least a year, and Steve still had six months to go. 

“What about your parents? You’re still young enough to be on their insurance, right?” Anthony had been surprised to learn that Steve was only in his early twenties, and joked about how he was ‘robbing the cradle’. 

“Dad’s long gone and Mom passed last year.” He knew Anthony meant well, but it still hurt to talk about losing her. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, sweetheart. Me and my big mouth - I ought to know better. My parents are gone too. Lost them in a car crash when I was just about your age.” He was quiet for a moment. “Hey - is there an urgent care clinic you can get to?”

“Maybe.” Steve brought up Google Maps. “Looks like there’s one about a mile away, but I don’t think I should ride the bus with this cough. And I don’t feel up to walking.” 

“Listen up, Grant. Go ahead and call a cab to take you to the clinic. Find out what’s wrong and get whatever you need to feel better. I’ll drop some cash in your tip jar to help out.” When Steve tried to protest, Anthony shut him down. “Don’t worry about it, sunshine. I just want you to take care of yourself. I kind of like you. Now, get going - the clinic probably closes at nine.” 

Before he called the cab, Steve checked his bank balance. He probably had enough to squeak by; he’d get his paycheck from the coffee shop in his account the next day, with his Fury Enterprises direct deposit coming in the following Friday. It would be tight -- ramen for a week tight -- but if Anthony was going to throw a few extra bucks his way, he should be all right. 

Dr. Cho at the Urgent Care was short and to the point. “Mr. Rogers, you have a nasty case of influenza. I’d say you were about a day from full blown pneumonia, thanks to your history with asthma. However, a course of antivirals, along with plenty of fluids and rest should clear you up. I’ll also get you a sample inhaler, just in case.” 

Steve felt sick to his stomach when he saw the bill - a hundred and fifty dollars. He paid what he could in cash, but had to put the bulk of it on his emergency credit card. His mom had drilled it into his head to avoid debt like the plague; she had always saved up and paid cash for everything. Steve planned to put whatever Anthony chipped in towards the card and try to pay it off next month - that 22% interest rate was a bitch. He was determined not to have to touch his savings - that was going towards his tuition for next semester... or maybe summer semester, if things kept going to shit like this. 

Checking the bus schedule, Steve found one late night route that actually made a pretty straight shot between the clinic and his place. He hit the local drug store, got his scripts and was home by eleven o’clock. He checked his email and was pleasantly surprised to see a note from Bucky. Sergeant Barnes had been on several assignments the past year or so where he couldn’t say where he was going, or how long he’d be gone, just that he’d be out of contact for the foreseeable future. 

But apparently he was back in range of the internet, so Steve opened up the email. 

> Hey punk -  
>  What’s up? Besides your dick that is - you gotta be sporting wood 24/7 with that sweet phone sex deal you got going. I got some material for your spank bank - guess who’s going to be working security detail for your celebrity crush? Yeah - apparently he’s coming over here (can’t tell ya where ‘here’ is tho) next week for some hoop-de-doo. I’ll take a picture of him in desert camo for ya. Just imagine - you & him all alone in a tent out in the desert, the only way to keep warm to share a sleeping bag...” 

Such an asshole - he’d told Bucky about his thing for Tony Stark during a weak moment. Leave it to his oldest (and most obnoxious) pal to find a way to needle him about it. He wrote up a reply:

> Jerky McJerkFace -  
>  Nah - most callers just want me to get them off & move on; I can fake it when I have to, but I like a little foreplay, ya know? There is one guy that’s as interested in me shooting my load as his own big O - he’s got a sexy-as-hell voice and just my kind of smutty imagination. And we actually talk a little, too. He’s someone I could kinda see myself going out with, tbh. And wouldn’t that be a hell of a ‘meet cute’ story? ‘Yeah - he called into my phone sex line and we hit it off after I got him off’. 0_o As for your assignment next week - take care of my bae and bring him home safe, OK? 

He closed up his laptop and was just about ready to go to bed when he got a phone call. 

It was Bruce. “Hey Steve, I’m working team lead tonight and I gotta ask, what the hell did you do to warrant a $300 tip?” Holy fuck - what was Anthony thinking? He would have been thrilled with thirty or forty bucks. 

“Nothing out of bounds, I swear,” Steve replied quickly. “You can go back and listen to the call. It was Anthony. He noticed I was sick and offered to help me out. I had no idea he would drop that much cash into my tip jar, honest.” He heard Bruce clicking through a couple of screens. 

“Anthony’s one of your regulars, right? Let me guess: older guy, still in the closet. Steve, you have got to be careful with clients like that. They get too attached. I know this sounds hypocritical, but men who call in regularly to services like ours? There’s a reason they’re resorting to phone sex.” Bruce had a point, but Anthony was different. He wasn’t a dirty old man, a loser with no social skills. Anthony was a nice guy who just needed a safe outlet, a release. 

Bruce continued. “I know a sugar daddy may sound like a good deal, Steve, but it’s way too easy to get in over your head. Trust me. We’re all about making our clients’ dreams come true, but we have to make sure we don’t get too caught up in those dreams ourselves. Be careful and be smart. You’re using an alias, right? Don’t give him any personal information.” 

Hm - a little too late for that, Steve thought. He knew the lines were blurring between him and Anthony and that he was already too emotionally invested. However, Bruce had a good point: they were selling a fantasy to their customers, and fantasies they had to stay. 

“I hear you, Bruce. I promise, I’ll be more careful.” 

Steve was feeling a little better the following morning, but still called in sick to work. He took it easy, watching a few movies and ordering Thai delivery. Between the meds and the spicy meal, he was breathing a little easier and his head didn’t feel so congested, so he logged into work. Steve was pleasantly surprised to have Anthony be his first call of the evening.

“How’re you doing, sunshine? Did the doc in the box set you right?” 

“I’m feeling a little better, thanks. Hey, are you sure you didn’t type an extra zero last night on that tip?” 

“Nope - just wanted to make sure you were taken care of, hon.” 

“That’s a lot of money, Anthony.” 

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” Anthony spoke reassuringly, but it felt a touch condescending. “From where I’m sitting, it’s not a lot. It really isn’t. Don’t worry about it.” 

But Steve had been worrying about it for most of the day. His mother had been a proud woman, and he’d definitely inherited her stubborn resentment of charity. Sure, he and Sam had joked about “sugar daddies”; but now that he’d been placed in that situation, he felt very uncomfortable. Bruce’s reminder about keeping distance between your persona and your self stuck in his mind as well. 

“I know you mean well, Anthony, but it kind of feels like you’re trying to buy my affection.” There was silence on the line for a long moment. 

“Well, isn’t this what we’ve been doing all along, Grant?” Anthony retorted, his voice gone hard. “Exchanging money for services? I suppose it’s no damned different than a bartender listening to the drunk sitting in front of him ramble on and on, til he buys his next round. Well, now that I've paid off my tab, I guess I'd better stumble out the door.” 

Steve felt as if he’d been slapped across the face. He hadn’t imagined Anthony could sound so resentful, so aggrieved. Realizing he’d made a terrible mistake, Steve started to apologize, but the line had already gone dead. Stomach roiling, he logged off and laid down for what turned out to be a sleepless night. 

 

“Hey, kid, where’ve you been? Missed your smiling face,” Tony greeted him, his own smile looking slightly brittle around the edges. Steve placed his favorite customer’s order - a coffee plus two blueberry scones - on the counter. He’d come in extra-early to stock the bakery case and had just pulled a batch out of the oven.

“I was a bit under the weather, but I’m feeling much better now.” 

“Good to know life is improving for someone around here,” Tony commented cryptically. “Well, back to the salt mines. Got some loose ends to wrap up before heading out of the country.” He put his sunglasses back on, and was on his way. 

Steve didn’t see Tony Stark again for three months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you notice the fandom tag change? Oh yes, dear readers... we're going there. Scream at me in the comments or over on my [ Tumblr](http://polizwrites.tumblr.com/)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through a bit of skulduggery, Steve gets Anthony's phone number and leaves an apology voicemail. An out-of-the ordinary errand takes him up to the Stark Industries executive floor. On his return to the coffee shop, he gets a distressing phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG - so many amazing comments from you guys! <3 x 100!!!! You have no idea how much this all means to me. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I hope you all continue to enjoy this story that I never intended to write, but am having a hell of a great time with. The angst will continue until further notice.

Steve wasn’t too surprised when Anthony didn’t call in at their usual time the following Thursday. He was probably still angry and hurt, and rightfully so. The more Steve thought about it, the worse he felt about what he’d said. Anthony had been sincerely trying to help a friend; just like he himself would buy Sam a meal or bag of groceries if he were short on cash that week.  
And while Anthony’s generosity was an order of magnitude higher than what Steve was used to, that didn’t make it wrong. 

And was it really so bad, to have made a connection, to be a friend to someone who apparently had so few? Or to consider him a friend (more than a friend) yourself? Anthony wasn’t the kind of person Bruce was talking about, Steve was sure of that. 

So when he missed their second call, Steve started to get concerned. He was on dispatcher duty on Friday and bent the rules a bit by checking to see if Anthony had called in to talk to anyone else. He wasn’t sure how he would have felt about that had it happened, but it hadn’t. By Monday, his urge to reach out to Anthony to apologize was so strong, he considered risking his job and asking Ms. Hill to forward a message. But he had one more avenue to try first.

“Miss Darcy - dear sweet Darcy. Paragon of womanhood, she upon whom Aphrodite showers her blessings...” he IM’d. 

“What do U want Steve” was her reply.

“Any chance you know a way to snag a contact number for one of our clients?” 

“Maybe. What’s in it 4 me?” 

“My eternal gratitude?” 

“That & 3 bucks gets me a cup of coffee. Try again.” 

“How about my mom’s secret recipe for blueberry scones?” 

“Better. Y do U want a john’s #?” He winced at the term ‘john’ - he hadn’t ever thought of Anthony that way. 

“I need to apologize - I said something stupid and hurt him. He hasn’t called back in 2 weeks, when we’ve been talking regularly for months.” 

“That is a noble cause. Give me the recipe, I’m on the job.” 

“Thanks, Miracle Max :)” He pasted in the recipe and sent it her way. 

Ten minutes later, Darcy responded with a phone number. “Don’t make me regret this.” He jotted it down, then logged off. Before he had a chance to think better of it, he dialed the number. It rang a few times, then clicked over to voicemail. 

A familiar voice said, “You know who I am and you know what to do.” 

“Anthony, this is Grant. I’m sorry to barge in on your personal life like this, but I had to apologize. I had no idea that my words would be so hurtful to you. I’m sorry. I truly am. And Anthony, sweetheart, you don’t need to buy my affection. You’ve earned it many times over, simply by being yourself. You are smart, funny, kind, and caring, as well as being sexy as hell.” He took a deep breath - in for a penny, in for a pound. 

“I’d like to meet you in person, if that’s at all possible. Maybe go out on a date. See if there’s something real here between us. ” Steve read off his cell phone number. “Please, Anthony, call or text me - let me know if you accept my apology, and might be willing to take me up on the offer. Even if you don’t accept, please let me know you’re doing okay. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately... and I miss you. By the way, my name’s Steve. Steve Rogers.” 

 

He was back at the coffeeshop the next morning, keeping an eagle eye out for Tony, but with no luck. Steve wondered how the ‘hoop-de-doo’ Bucky wrote about had gone; if that was what was keeping the head of Stark Industries busy. About nine-thirty, the phone rang. Nat answered: “200 Park Ave Coffee Shop.” “No, I’m sorry, we don’t do deliveries.” “Oh. Well, in that case...” She gestured frantically at Steve, making a writing motion. He passed over a pad of paper and pen, and when she turned to the wall to start writing, he lost track of the conversation. She hung up the phone a few moments later.

“Okay guys. A Mr. Jarvis just requested that two carafes of coffee -- one dark roast and one house blend -- along with a dozen assorted pastries be sent up to the executive floor - conference room 3B.” She exchanged a look with Sharon, and both of them grinned. “Steve - you’re it. Oh, and he said to be sure to wear your badge.” 

Steve felt a little foolish as he crossed the lobby, holding both carafes in one hand, and balancing the paper cups atop the bakery box with the other. He’d stuffed various accoutrements in the pocket of his apron and clipped his building access badge prominently to his shirt, opposite his nametag. 

The first hurdle was the security guard desk in front of the elevators. “Hi - I’m Steve from the coffeeshop across the lobby. A Mr. Jarvis called in a delivery order for conference room 3B on the executive floor.” Steve smiled and tried to appear innocuous while the guard looked him over skeptically. 

“Just a moment.” She tapped the keyboard and peered at the screen. “Huh. Okay - go ahead. Exec elevator is the last one on the left.” 

The elevator slid open as he approached; a neat trick. He stepped in, and as the doors closed, a voice instructed: “Please hold your badge up to the screen next to the bank of buttons to confirm access.” Steve awkwardly twisted, standing on his tiptoes to line his badge up properly. 

“Temporary authorization for Rogers, Steven G. approved.” And the elevator started to rise. 

The doors opened and Steve faced another obstacle - an administrative assistant. The older woman reminded him of his fourth grade teacher - the old biddy who thought he was faking his disability. But this woman wore a faintly amused expression as he approached tentatively.

“Good morning,” Steve said, “A Mr. Jarvis called in an order to our coffeeshop downstairs. I’m supposed to deliver these to Conference Room 3B.” 

“Yes, dear, he told me to be expecting you.” She spoke kindly, the slight lilt to her voice reminding him of his Ireland-born grandmother. She gestured to Steve’s left. “Down the hall, second door on the right.” 

As Steve approached the conference room door, he heard the sound of raised voices. He used his elbow to tap on the door and the voices stopped. A moment later, the door opened slightly, held by a large man blocking the way. His suit was rumpled, and he carried himself like a fighter. He stared at Steve distrustfully, sizing him up and taking a good look at his badge. 

“I think you’re a little lost, kid,” he said gruffly. In response, Steve found himself once more politely explaining his presence. The man shook his head disbelievingly, but with a smile. He then opened the door the rest of the way, gesturing Steve in while speaking to the other inhabitants of the room to get their attention. 

A tall redhead, perhaps a decade older than Steve, dressed in an immaculately tailored grey suit and sky-high heels, pressed a button on the remote in her hand, blanking out whatever had been displaying on the wall-mounted screen behind her. She was quite attractive, Steve noticed, but bore traces of worry and sadness on her face. An old white man, bald and bearded, with the demeanor of a career politician was sitting at the head of a conference table. He was joined by a handsome black guy about a dozen years his junior, an Air Force officer by the looks of his uniform. 

The man who had opened the door put his hand on Steve’s shoulder and came around to face him. “Wait a moment, you’re from the coffee shop downstairs, right?” He addressed Steve with a more affable tone. “Figures that J would call you - Tony loves you guys. Did you bring any blueberry scones?” Steve wondered who this man was, as he obviously knew Tony well. The woman looked familiar; she’d spoken at several Stark Industries press conferences recently, but he couldn’t quite recall her name. 

She spoke to the man with an assured, yet kind tone, calling him... Hap, was it? Making eye contact with Steve, she continued. “You can put those here.” She gestured to the conference table. Steve finally set his burden down, unclenching his cramped hands. 

“Thank you, ma’am.” Time to play the polite service drone. “So, the silver topped carafe is our house blend, and the black top is the dark roast.” He emptied his apron pockets. “Here’s creamers, sweeteners, and stir sticks. Looks like I brought plenty of cups.” Steve turned to the man she’d called Hap, adding, “And yes, there’s four blueberry scones in the box, sir, part of a baker’s dozen of pastries.” 

“I like this kid, Pep.” Hap said to the woman. “Cool under pressure.” He continued to speak to her saying something about “training him up” and “when you’re fed up with Tony.” 

Steve heard the older man speaking from behind him, a low rumble that sounded concerned, but not quite sincere. The woman responded hotly over Steve’s shoulder with a flash of fire in her eyes and anger flaring in her voice.

“No. We are not giving up on him, Obediah. Not yet.” Her voice broke on her last words. 

As Steve moved away from the table, the military man stood as well, speaking forcefully to the older man the woman had called Obediah. Steve backed uncomfortably against the wall, only catching a few phrases: “ ... not your call ... SAR mission... ongoing...” 

Obediah put his hands out in a conciliatory manner as he responded. He then glanced over at Steve, who had been trying to fade into the woodwork. “Get this kid out of here. We have work to do.” he said dismissively. 

The woman grabbed her pocketbook from a shelf and came over. “What’s the total,” she paused to glance at his nametag, “Steve?” 

He hadn’t thought to ask Nat or Sharon to ring up the order before he headed upstairs, and made a command decision. “Complimentary, ma’am. Just our way of saying thanks for your company’s patronage over the years.” If Coulson asked about the missing product, he’d explain then. 

“Nonsense,” Ms. Potts said, with a hint of a smile. “Let’s see ... ” She pointed to the items on the table and used her fingers for some sort of calculation, then counted out several bills and pressed them into Steve’s hand. “Tony does,” and she put an odd emphasis on the word ‘does’, “speak quite highly of your coffee shop. I’ll have to make sure to send a note to your manager.”

 

“That would be very thoughtful. Thank you, ma’am.” Steve replied, and added, “Oh, when you talk to Mr. Stark, tell him Steve from the coffee shop downstairs says hello.” 

“I will,” she replied, eyes growing bright before she turned away. The first man - Hap - showed him to the door, and Steve retraced his steps back to the elevator. As he exited on the ground floor, he noticed a crowd gathering in the front corner of the spacious lobby.

“They started setting up just after you headed upstairs,” Sharon responded when Steve asked what was going on. News cameras formed a half-circle around a platform topped with a podium. Camera crews and reporters were milling about. “We’d better get a few fresh pots brewing.” 

Steve was just about to tell Nat and Sharon about what had happened upstairs when he felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it from his pocket to see who was calling. No name, and the area code had changed, but the number itself he’d had memorized since childhood. “I need to take this call.” Steve closed the door to the store room behind him as he answered the phone. 

“Hello?”

“Hello, Steven. It’s Winnie. Winnie Barnes. Something’s happened to James.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another cliffhanger?!?! Yes - I'm an awful* person.  
> Come scream at me some more in the comments or over on [ Tumblr](http://polizwrites.tumblr.com/).  
> Note that I've upped the total chapter count to 11. Still working out the happy (and smutty) ending. 
> 
>    
> * Though not a monster - note the lack of "major character death" warning. I promise I won't do that to Bucky. Obediah, on the other hand... I'm still trying to decide.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve learns about the attack on the Stark Industries convoy in Afghanistan: Bucky is badly injured and Tony is missing. The rest of the month does not go well. Bucky comes home in time for Christmas and Steve is invited to the Barnes' for the holidays. After the first of the year, Steve introduces Sam and Bucky to each other with mixed results. Tony Stark is rescued the first week of February; and Steve receives an early morning phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again - thank you **SO MUCH** for all the lovely comments and kudos! You are wonderful people - MWAH! :: hands around virtual blueberry scones :: 
> 
> I hope this chapter leaves you feeling a little better about our sad, lonely Steve and poor kidnapped Tony. (Bucky, too - even tho I Went There) There's a lot going on here - so hold on tight!

Steve absently sat down on a stack of boxes as Mrs. Barnes continued. “First off, James is going to be all right. He was riding in a high-security convoy about 30 miles away from the base when it was attacked by some local insurgents.” She spoke slowly and with some effort. “There were multiple casualties, and he was hurt pretty badly. ” 

“Winnie - please say you’re not alone, that your girls are there with you....” 

“Yes, dear. Becca’s here and Catherine came as soon as I called. Ruth will be home by the end of the week. I’m afraid it was touch and go for James for a while... they had to amputate his left arm.” She was quiet for a moment, then continued. “He’s finally stable enough to be transferred to the military hospital at Landstuhl in Germany. He’ll be there for the next month or so, but he should be home by Christmas.” 

“Wait, when did the attack happen?” Steve was confused about the timeline. 

“Early last week. I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner, but we were told not to speak with anyone outside of immediate family until otherwise notified. I just now got the go-ahead.” 

“Ah. Well, you know, I’m still here in the city. Is there anything I can do to help?” 

“Thank you, Steve, but we’re getting along alright. We'll let you know as soon as James is home. I’m sure he’ll want a friendly face around.” 

After they hung up, Steve thought back to Bucky’s email and everything suddenly came together. Tony must have been the reason for that convoy; Bucky said he was working security detail for him. Perhaps Tony was being escorted to or from the base for some sort of Stark Industries weapons demo. 

But there’d been nothing on the news about an attack - it had somehow been hushed up for over a week. Why would the news be so delayed? Had Tony been injured? Killed? Steve realized that the meeting upstairs he had interrupted with his delivery just now had probably been to prepare for an announcement, which also explained the press setting up out in the lobby. 

Mind reeling, Steve left the store room and joined Nat and Sharon behind the counter. The television in the coffeeshop provided an mirror image of the events unfolding across the lobby. Miss Potts and the military officer were standing on either side of the stage, while Obadiah Stane -- he recognized the man as the CFO of Stark Industries now -- was at the podium, his practiced, polished gestures repeated in miniature. The closed captioning was on; but as with most live events, it was delayed and disjointed. Steve felt that way himself, not quite able to keep up with what was happening. 

“Therefore, In Mr. Stark’s absence, Miss Potts and myself will be taking on the executive role for the company,” Stane was saying. “I assure you there will be no impact to the day to day operations of Stark Industries. Thank you all for attending - please submit any questions to the Stark Industries Public Relations staff.” He stepped down from the podium, ignoring the reporters’ shouts and pleas. 

Steve watched and listened as the reporter on screen summarized the press conference. Tony Stark had been in Afghanistan to work with the military on their latest collaboration when his convoy was attacked by insurgents. He was not found among the survivors or the casualties, and was therefore considered missing. A search and rescue operation, led by Stark Industries' military liaison, Colonel Rhodes, was combing the area. 

Nat put a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. “I know you had kind of a thing for Mr. Stark, but you look white as a sheet - what was that phone call about?” He explained about Bucky, and she gave him a quick hug. “Oh no - I’m so sorry about your friend. Do you want to take the rest of the day off?” He nodded, feeling very tired all of a sudden. 

There were reporters stationed in the lobby of the building for the next two weeks, their numbers dwindling as the days went by. It was good business for the coffee shop while it lasted, even as Steve tried not to dwell on the reason why. He made blueberry scones every morning, setting one aside, just in case. It was always gone the next morning. He assumed Nat or Sharon was adding to the Second Harvest box at the end of each day, along with the other leftover baked goods. At least this way it wasn’t going to waste. 

Steve was having trouble staying focused at his other job as well. He still took calls, and tried to make sure the clients were getting their money’s worth, but his heart wasn’t really it anymore. He asked Ms. Hill to take him off the active roster; he would continue to log in on Thursdays, but let the dispatchers - Darcy and Bruce - know to only forward a call if it were from Anthony. 

He had also withdrawn $300 in cash from his account, stuck it in an envelope and tucked it into his desk. If Anthony ever did call back, and actually wanted to take Steve up on his offer, maybe they could go somewhere really nice - the kind of place Anthony was presumably accustomed to. 

Steve declined Sam’s invitation to join him for a trip down to Baltimore to spend Thanksgiving with his mom and sister. He didn’t want to take the chance of not being available on a Thursday night, so he told Sam he’d volunteered to work at a local soup kitchen. And as he didn’t want to make himself a total liar, Steve scrambled around and found a place where he could work a shift. 

He baked umpteen batches of dinner rolls, and helped prep vats of gravy throughout the morning and early afternoon of Thanksgiving. After standing on the serving line for almost two hours, they sent Steve home with a take out container full of food, which got cold as he waited for Anthony to call. 

Not that he was very hungry, anyways. Maybe it was just because it was winter in the city, but all the color seemed to have leached out of his surroundings. Steve tried sketching, but nothing came out right. He had a pile of untouched library books stacked next to the bed, and the Netflix envelope sat on the table by the door for two weeks, unopened. He missed the deadline for enrolling for spring semester. He slept a lot. 

 

The week before Christmas, Becca texted Steve. “Bucky’s home. Can you come to dinner tomorrow night?” 

 

“Here, lemme help.” Bucky’s voice was hoarse as he reached out his hand to take one of the bakery boxes Steve was carrying. 

“He just wants to get first dibs... and there had better be snickerdoodles,” Becca commented, as she took another of the boxes off the stack. Steve had made several dozen cookies, all Bucky’s favorites. 

“Wouldn’t dare come visiting without them.” he replied. Steve followed them into the dining room. Bucky’s gait was a little off, and he bumped into the doorframe on the way through. They set the boxes down on the sideboard, and when Bucky turned to face him, for just a moment, Steve was looking into the eyes of a stranger, someone who was tired and lost. 

Feeling awkward, Steve held out his hand to shake. Bucky rolled his eyes, and pulled Steve into an embrace. He hadn’t known how badly he needed this - needed proof that his best friend was really here, was going to be okay. Steve wasn’t sure which one of them was shaking, him or Bucky, but his eyes were more than a little damp. He whispered roughly into Bucky’s ear, “Your ma’s never gonna let you go play out in the desert again, is she?” 

“Nah - but I’ve had my fill of sand,” Bucky replied, with a sharp, low laugh. “I may never go to out to Coney Island again.” 

As they sat down to dinner, Steve realized it had been a long time since he’d spent time with the Barnes family; and even longer since he’d felt completely comfortable with them. He knew Bucky’s mom disapproved of his “lifestyle”. She had helped quite a bit with making arrangements after his mother passed, but he wondered if it was simply out of respect for her dear friend Sarah, as well as it being her Christian duty. 

So he couldn’t have been more surprised when, at a lull in the conversation, she asked, “So, Steven, are you seeing anybody?” He tried not to choke on the bite of food he’d taken, but that gave him a moment to gather his thoughts. 

“No ma’am. I haven’t got the time - I’m working two jobs.” If asked, he planned to say he worked part-time at a coffee shop and at a call center, hoping the latter sounded boring enough to deflect further questions. 

“His crush’s got expensive tastes,” Bucky chipped in, and Steve kicked him under the table as his ears grew hot. 

“Oh ho, got your eye on a pretty young girl, Steve?” Mr. Barnes asked. 

“Dad!” Becca exclaimed, in the uniquely embarrassed tone that only teenaged girls can pull off, “Steve’s gay, remember?” 

“That’s right... so, a handsome young man, then?” Steve was sure his face was as red as a tomato, and both Catherine and Ruth erupted in giggles. Bucky and Becca joined in, and the rest of the table followed. Their laughter felt like home. 

The evening had gone better than Steve had hoped, with Mrs. Barnes giving him a hug as they said goodbye. “Thank you for the cookies, and for joining us, Steven. You’re welcome to come back and stay the night for Christmas, you know.” 

He took her up on the offer, bringing a coffee cake for Christmas Day breakfast. He and Bucky pulled the cushions off the sofa and slept in the living room, just like they’d done as kids. Steve attended the Barnes’ New Year’s Eve party as well, getting a kiss on the cheek from Becca as the ball dropped in Times Square. It was nice to feel like part of a family again. 

But things were a little tense when Steve introduced Sam and Bucky to one another after the new year. They circled each other warily, like two tomcats squaring off over territory. When Steve realized he was that territory, it was oddly flattering, but not something he wanted to deal with long-term. He summoned the energy to find things that the three of them could do together. He was fairly sure that once Sam and Bucky got past this weird jealousy thing, they’d get along just fine. 

During a break in the late January weather, Steve suggested a trip out of town to catch the Theo Jansen Strandbeests exhibit at the Dia: Beacon Art Foundation gallery. Bucky made a face. “How are we going to get the hell out there?”

“Sam has a car. I’ll see if he wants to go.” 

The hour and a half long trip started off rough. It made sense for Bucky to ride up front with Sam, as he needed more legroom. After fifteen minutes of near-silence, Steve suggested putting some music on. 

“CD player’s broken - have to listen to the radio.” Sam and Bucky then spent the next hour arguing over which station to listen to. Sam’s tastes ran to classic R&B, while Bucky was a pop music junkie. They found common ground in Adele, when “Rolling in the Deep” came up as they scanned through the stations, but that only lasted as long as the song. 

Once they got out to the gallery, the three of them went their separate ways as they made their way through the exhibit. Bucky was fascinated by the mechanics of the wind-propelled constructs, while Sam got a kick out of the philosophy behind the dream machines. Steve found a comfortable bench and sketched the beasts, while a small part of him wondered what Anthony would think of the exhibit. He’d tried calling his number again the weekend after Thanksgiving, but when the voicemail picked up, he ended the call without leaving a message. Obviously Anthony didn’t want to talk to him any more. 

Steve tracked down Bucky and Sam and suggested they get some lunch at the little cafe on the grounds. They passed another exhibit hall, and the sign caught Steve’s eye: '21st Century Guernica'. Being a fan of Picasso, he made a mental note to check it out after they ate. It must have been some sort of multimedia piece, as they could see the flicker of video through the open doorway. The roar of an incoming missile played on the soundtrack and Bucky froze. Then, suddenly, he barreled into Steve, pushing him into the wall, then down to the floor as he crouched protectively over him, looking frantically all around. He called out, “Dugan, Morita - cover Stark!” 

Steve gasped, trying to sit up and catch his breath, and Bucky hissed, “Stay down, civvie!” His chest was heaving erratically and Steve was afraid Bucky was about to pass out. Then Sam crouched down a few feet away in front of them, and spoke in a low, calm, focused voice. 

“Hey, Barnes. It’s okay. You’re home. Back in the States. It’s safe, man - no bombs, no missiles. We’re in a museum. Everything’s fine. Look at me. Can you breathe with me? Deep breath in. Hold it a moment. Breathe out. It’s all good. Again - in, hold, out. One more time - in, hold, out. How about we all stand back up now? ” Sam stood, as did Bucky, moving aside when Sam stretched out a hand to Steve to help him up. 

“Oh shit - Stevie, are you okay?” Bucky said, as if he’d just realized what happened. 

“I’m fine,” Steve replied, brushing himself off. Sam had told him about a couple of episodes he'd seen when something triggered his clients' PTSD, but he never thought that would happen to Bucky. He did know his lifelong friend well enough not to make a big deal of what had just happened, so he decided to lighten the mood. “If I’d known we were playing tackle football today, I’d have worn pads. And maybe a cup.” 

Bucky huffed. “Smartass punk.” He threw an arm over Steve’s shoulder, pulling him close. “Sorry. It’s just... I thought I was right back there again, ya know?” Steve didn’t know, couldn’t know, but nodded his head anyways. 

“S’okay - now how about lunch?” 

Over sandwiches and chips, Sam asked Bucky if Steve “had always been a stubborn little shit”. Bucky was more than happy to tell Sam that yes, “ever since we were snot-nosed kids.” Steve let him recount the well-worn stories of their many years of friendship, only occasionally correcting him as needed. Sam in turn told Bucky a few stories from his and Steve’s history together, which somehow turned into the two of them bemoaning Steve’s failure to take on the wingman role. “So much for double dates, am I right?” 

“No kidding, Wilson. He ain’t even willing to pretend for an evening - him and his morals.” They turned mock-critical eyes on Steve, who simply shrugged. He was willing to have his supposed shortcomings dissected to death, if it gave the two of them a chance to bond. They decided to call it a day after they finished eating, and went out to the parking lot. Steve called shotgun on the way back - he didn’t want a repeat of the radio station battle. 

“Fine, Steve. Just pull the seat up, wouldja? Wilson’s gangly ass needs too damn much legroom.” Bucky complained. 

“Excuse me, Mister ‘my thighs are God’s gift to women’. In my experience, ladies like ‘em long and lean, built for endurance over brute strength...” Steve quietly smiled as they continued bickering all the way back to the city. He had been right - they were getting along just fine. 

 

It was two weeks later, early in the morning when the news broke regarding Tony Stark. The search and rescue team had finally found him. No details were being given in the initial reports as to his whereabouts since November, but Stark Industries was supposed to have a press conference later that day. 

Steve knew he should have felt relief; been happy to hear that Tony was okay, that Bucky’s sacrifice hadn’t been for nothing. But he couldn’t help but think of Anthony. Somewhere along the way, Steve’s feelings about both men had gotten mixed together, tangled and overlapping. And while he was glad that one was safe, it made him miss the other even more. 

Reporters thronged the entrance to Stark Industries’ headquarters. Steve pushed through the crowd, and when someone shoved a microphone in his face, he said tersely, “I don’t know anything about anything. I just work at the coffeeshop.” The press conference was held during the middle of their morning rush, and Steve couldn’t spare the attention to keep up with the closed captioning. 

Sharon updated him after the fact. “Apparently Stark was being held captive by the group that bombed the convoy a few months ago. He orchestrated his own escape, and was found two days later by Colonel Rhodes himself. He’s under medical observation at Bagram, but should be back in the States once he gets cleared.” It was good news, but somehow still left him feeling hollow. 

Steve’s cell phone rang early the following morning. It was supposed to be his day off, and he really didn’t want to get called in to cover someone else’s shift. He didn’t recognize the number, but he answered it anyways, half-asleep. 

“H’lo?” he mumbled. 

“Hey, Grant, it’s me.” said a voice he didn’t think he’d ever hear again. “It’s Anthony.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: drafts of Chapters 9 and 10 are written (both on the long side as well - 2600+ and nearly 3k words respectively at the moment) and Chapter 11 will either be about half that or even longer than them, depending on where I decide to go with it. (aka kill off Obie or not) 
> 
> Either way - if all goes well in Real Life - this fic should be complete by the second week of October. Yay!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Big Reveal (in two parts) leads to a first kiss. Tony's time is not his own for a few weeks and Steve settles for what he can get. With assistance from Happy, Tony and Steve finally have their first (clandestine) date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again - MANY MANY THANKS for all the lovely comments and encouragement! You have buoyed my spirits like you wouldn't believe. I love you all! 
> 
> Another long chapter with a lot going on - a bit of an emotional roller coaster with pathos & angst sprinkled liberally throughout. And yes, another damn cliffhanger.

“Tho I suppose I should call you Steve now, right?” Anthony continued. “Hm. Steve. Steven. Stephen. Stevarino. Stevie. Yeah - it’s going to take a little of getting used to. Oh, and since we’re revealing our secret identities now - I’m Tony. Tony Stark. Yeah, that one. Hope that kind of explains why I didn’t call back before.”

“I suppose it does.” Steven responded slowly. It felt as if puzzle pieces were finally falling into place; a pointillist painting slowly resolving into the landscape it was meant to portray. A coincidence to end all coincidences. 

“So, how have you been? Hey, 929 - that’s a Brooklyn area code, right? So, what’s the weather like at home?” The breezy note in Anthony... no ... Tony’s voice rang false in Steve’s ears. 

“I’m doing all right. And you know, typical New York winter. But what about you? It’s all over the news, of course, but.... are you okay?” Before he threw caution to the wind, to admit that he was -- believe it or not -- Steve from the coffee shop, he wanted to find out how much of the Anthony he thought he knew was still there, despite the life-changing experience Tony had just gone through. 

“Can’t fool you for a minute, can I, sunshine?” The charm fell away; leaving Tony sounding exhausted. “I’ve been better, I’ll say that. Listen, I’m kind of AWOL at the moment; hiding from the doctors and the debriefing. So I’m going to have to make this quick. I have no idea if what you said in your voicemail is still true - that you’d like to meet, to go out. A lot could have changed in the past few months ... or the past few minutes for that matter.” He paused, but before Steve could decide what to say next, Tony continued.

“Dammit - this isn’t going to be fair, but I’m going to say it anyways. I probably wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for you and those phone calls. I’m not talking about the sex - those urges disappeared surprisingly quickly. It was everything else. The pieces of your life you shared with me, and what you let me share with you.” 

“I can count on one hand the people who like me for who I am, not what I can do for them. It was a breath of fresh air to be able to add you to that list. I thought a lot about how I could show you what that means to me. And, you know, since I had a lot of time on my hands, I built some pretty fancy castles in the air." 

There was your brand-new studio -- somewhere with good light, maybe in a renovated warehouse or something. I envisioned it down to the last detail and stocked it with everything short of a block of marble. Then there was the grand tour of Europe - I was going to take you to the Louvre in Paris, Uffizi Gallery in Florence, the Prado in Madrid, maybe even the Vatican, assuming that I wouldn’t burst into flames crossing the threshold.” Steve couldn’t hold back a quick bark of laughter - he was overwhelmed by Tony’s words and his own emotions. 

“I know that’s all too much, of course it is,” Tony continued. “You’re too proud and too stubborn to accept such grandiose gifts, even if you deserve them. But I have to tell you that I’d do anything in my power to make you happy, Steve. Which includes doing nothing at all.” Tony paused, as if to finally catch his breath. “If you’ve got someone else, if some lucky bastard already scooped you up, just say the word.”

“Tony....” Steve was stunned, speechless. 

“Is that ‘Tony, yes, please be mine!’ or ‘Tony, no thanks, I’m good.’? Gonna need a little more feedback, and quickly - I think they’re coming for me.” 

“Tony, yes. So help me, yes. But you have no idea... I’m... I’m not Grant... that was just... ”

“Don’t care.” Tony interrupted, a note of urgency in his voice. “There’s a coffeeshop at 200 Park Avenue in midtown. Meet me there in one week. 10am. Wear a red carnation!” 

“Wait, what?” But it was too late - Tony had hung up. 

 

“Steve, what’s with the flower?” Sharon asked. The morning rush was wrapping up, and Steve finally had a chance to take the florist’s box out of the fridge. Go big or go home, he thought, pinning the boutonniere to his apron. 

“I’m meeting someone. Kind of a blind date. I might take the rest of the day off to celebrate. Or find a dark quiet corner to curl up and die of embarrassment in. Either way, I’m clocking out.” 

“Ah - well, that explains it. Good luck, Steve,” Sharon replied.

Steve sat at three different tables before choosing one with both a good sightline of the entrance to the shop and a straight line to the back exit. He couldn’t sit still; when he tried to quiet his tapping hands, his knee started bouncing. Distracted, he didn’t even recognize Tony at first. But perhaps that was on purpose, as he was dressed to be unobtrusive; wearing jeans and a hoodie, with a ball cap pulled down low to throw shadows on his face. As Tony walked toward the seating area, (thankfully nearly deserted) Steve stood up, and their eyes met. 

Tony’s astonished expression was quickly replaced by an amused smile as he came up to Steve, saying “You mean to tell me we’ve been right here, practically under each other’s noses the whole damn time?” 

“Sure seems that way.” Steve was determined to match Tony’s casual attitude with his own. 

“Mistress Fate must be laughing her ass off at us right now.” Tony said, slowly shaking his head. He looked pale and drawn, Steve thought, cheekbones even more prominent than before. And tired, as if he hadn’t slept in months. Which, he supposed, wasn’t too far wrong. 

After a few awkward moments where Tony just stood there looking him over, Steve made a small, resigned shrug. “Told you I wasn’t Grant.” 

“And I said I didn’t care.” His flippant tone was gone; Tony’s voice was quiet and sincere. “That was just a fantasy. This, this is finally the real thing.” He stepped in, raised a hand to cup Steve’s jaw, and gently pulled him in for a kiss. 

It was a little clumsy, as first kisses often are, but it was soft, and it was sweet. Tony cradled Steve’s face in both hands, and Steve rested his hands lightly on Tony’s waist. 

“Shit, did I just out you to your co-workers?” Tony murmured as their lips parted. Steve smiled and shook his head. 

“Not a problem. They’ve been teasing me about my crush on one of our customers for months. You know, the dark, handsome, eccentric genius type.” He looked over Tony’s shoulder to see both Nat and Sharon carefully paying absolutely no attention to the two men embracing in the middle of the coffee shop.

“A crush, you say? Oh, I need to hear more about this.” He checked his watch. “But I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep. Can I get to the freight elevators from here?” 

Steve nodded towards the back door. “Through there and take a left down the hallway.” 

“Thanks, sweetheart. I’ll be in touch - promise.” And with a quick peck on the cheek, Tony was on the move again. 

Steve saw him on the television two hours later. It was Tony Stark’s first press conference since his rescue. He had made a short statement from Bagram the day after the news broke, and Stane had made a few announcements on behalf of Stark Industries, of course, but otherwise all the news had been secondhand at best. Tony was in fine form, surprisingly well put together for someone who had spent the better part of the past three months in captivity. But Steve could see that his smile was simply plastered on and how tightly he was grasping the edges of the podium. 

Accompanied by his head of security, Harold Hogan, Tony acknowledged Mr. Stane and Ms. Potts’ efforts in managing the company in his absence, and praised the military - Colonel Rhodes in particular - for continuing the search and locating him after his escape. 

“But there’s someone else I’d like to thank. A man whose kindness and generosity helped get me through the dark days of my captivity. A man who offered me his friendship, not because of my name or my reputation, but because of who I was inside. His strength and compassion helped me survive, gave me a reason to do everything in my power to take my life back. I wouldn’t be here without his help. I wish he could be with us here today.” 

He wrapped up the press conference by taking a few questions; however, he refused to talk about the armored suit, saying it was “currently classified.” The talking heads afterwards speculated that the unnamed man referenced in the speech was in fact Ho Yinsen, a Western-educated Afghani engineer who specialized in guidance systems. He had gone missing a few months prior to Stark’s kidnapping, and his body had been found in the wreckage of the terrorist camp. He was presumed to have been killed while attempting to escape with Stark. 

Over the next few weeks, Tony did his best to keep his promise about staying in touch with Steve. However, his time hadn’t been his own. More press conferences -- including one where he announced that Stark Industries was getting out of the weapons business -- and countless meetings had him running from morning to night. Tony most often called Steve while in transit between events. When he used nicknames like “pal” or “champ”, coupled with friendly chit-chat, that meant he had company; the endearments only became part of the conversation when he was alone, which didn’t seem to be often at all. 

They still saw each other at the coffee shop; but that was equally restrictive. Paparazzi had made a habit of following Tony around town, even into his own building when they thought they could get away with it. So it was all polite small talk; a nodding acquaintance, nothing more. Steve understood why it had to be that way; with Tony being so much in the public eye, any hint of scandal would get totally blown out of proportion. It bothered Steve that even in this day and age, a celebrity coming out of the closet meant a field day for the tabloids, but he couldn't deny it was the truth. So it hurt a little, that they couldn’t acknowledge their feelings about each other openly. 

Not that Steve could be sure what Tony was feeling anymore. It was entirely possible that while Tony had fixated on him during his captivity, now that he was home and safe, those intense emotions were fading away, despite their little chats. That or Tony realized that a relationship with another man, once it became common knowledge, could possibly affect the company itself, as well as his own reputation. Steve was pretty sure that Stane, along with the other old white men of the Board of Directors, would be aghast at the idea that the face of their company was bisexual. So Steve contented himself with the crumbs of attention Tony was able to spare him and never asked for more.

Early one afternoon, Tony called with good news. “Hey, sunshine, I finally got a night off. Are you free later on? Want to go out to dinner?” 

“That sounds great,” Steve replied, “What time?” He fought against the hope that this could actually be a date. 

“How does sixish sound? Text me your address.” 

“Will do. Do I have to worry about a dress code?” Steve panicked for a moment; he didn’t think he had anything nice enough to wear to the high-class restaurants Tony was surely used to. 

“Nope.... but wear a button down shirt. Please.” Tony let his voice go low and sultry, and Steve felt a curl of arousal in response. They hadn’t had a chance to have one of those conversations again; despite a few attempts he’d made when he knew Tony was alone. Steve tried not to take it personally when Tony gently demurred, saying he wasn’t feeling up to it. And that had hurt a little, too. 

“Should I pack an overnight bag?” Steve asked, half jokingly, half sincere. 

“That’s not a bad idea, hot stuff.” That definitely got Steve’s hopes up.

“I have good ones every once in awhile. See you tonight, darling.” 

 

Steve picked out dark grey pants and a blue shirt that Nat had told him complimented his eyes; he’d had to take her word for it. He tossed his toiletry bag in his satchel, along with a clean shirt, socks and skivvies. He waffled on whether to add a tshirt and pair of flannel pants. In colder weather, he always wore something to bed to stay warm; but that was because he slept alone. Besides, if he played his cards right, he wouldn’t be sleeping much; he’d prepared for that possibility as well with a quick trip to the drug store. 

Steve was waiting downstairs in his building’s lobby right at seven. A sedan pulled up out front, but it was Tony’s security head, Hogan who stepped out and waved to him. That was not who he expected to see, and Steve wasn’t sure what to do. What story had Tony told Hogan to explain why he had been sent to pick up the guy who worked at the coffee shop? 

He walked cautiously up to the car, but Hogan greeted him warmly, opening the back door for him. “Hey, Steve. Tony asked me to come get you and head to the restaurant - he’ll meet you there. With all the vultures hanging around lately, he’s gone all cloak and dagger on us.” 

“Uh, thanks.” Steve was still apprehensive, and it must have shown on his face. 

“Don’t worry, kid. He got us up to speed - me, Potts and Rhodes - called it his coming out party.” Hogan seemed unfazed by Tony's revelation. He got back behind the wheel, and pulled out into the remnants of rush hour traffic. He left the radio off; Tony must have mentioned Steve’s issues with background noise as well. While sitting in a traffic snarl, Hogan turned around and said, “You know, Tony really likes you.” 

“And I really like him.” If Tony had admitted as much to Hogan, Steve could do no less. 

“So, do I need to give you a shovel talk, or can we take it as read?” The warmth in Hogan’s voice was suddenly gone; Steve remembered how imposing the man had been when they’d first met. 

“Message received, loud and clear.” Steve firmly replied, while taking heart from the implications of Hogan’s comment. “I’m letting him take the lead, define the rules. Tony’s got a lot more to lose than I do, I realize that.” 

“Then I think we’re good.” A few minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of a nondescript brick building with a neon sign in the window. “It’s nicer than it looks.” Hogan must have seen Steve’s skeptical expression as he got out of the back seat. “Tony’s been craving cheeseburgers since he got back and this place has the best in the city, as far as I'm concerned.” 

A late model Audi was parked near the building. “Looks like he beat us here. C’mon.” But when Steve reached for his bag, Hogan said, “Nah - leave it. We’re switching cars.” They entered the restaurant to find Tony standing in the corner across from the take-out counter. 

“Really, Boss? A fedora and trench coat? Sam Spade you ain’t.” 

“I was going more for a Singing Detective vibe, actually,” Tony replied as he shed the coat and doffed the hat. He’d slicked back his hair and was wearing horn-rimmed glasses. The dark sweater, scarf and skinny jeans completed the Euro-hipster look. Steve found it oddly attractive, if completely different from Tony’s usual style. But he supposed that was the point. 

“Take good care of my baby,” Tony said to Hogan as they exchanged car keys. “My other baby that is. I’ve got my hands full with this one.” He put an arm around Steve’s shoulders and brushed a kiss on his cheek. This casual demonstration of affection made Steve go weak at the knees. “C’mon, sunshine. Let’s see if this place is all Hap made it out to be.” 

It was warm and cozy in the restaurant, dim lighting and high-walled booths providing a welcome amount of privacy. The “Seat Yourself” sign allowed them to choose a spot in the back of the room, and the waitress came to their table a few moments after they’d gotten settled. 

“Good evening, gentlemen. Can I get you something to drink?” She then looked more closely at them. “ Wait a minute, you’re Tony Stark, aren’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am an awful person to drop another evil cliffhanger in your laps. 
> 
> Just remember, there's smut in the next chapter and a promised happy ending, so keep hope in your hearts. Next update should drop sometime next Wednesday.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's quick wit saves the date; Steve and Tony adjourn to a hotel room to get to know each other up close and personal -- finally living out in person their shared phone fantasies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, gentle readers - the smut has returned. But poor Steve seems convinced this is a one-time thing (silly boy!) 
> 
> We're almost at the end - the smut continues in Chapter 11, along with more feels and angst, and a few loose ends to tie up. 
> 
> And once again, **many MANY thanks** for the wonderful comments - I feel blessed and humbled.

Steve froze. With the age difference, they couldn’t claim to be high school or college friends. Younger cousin from out of town? College student interviewing for a Stark Industries intern position? But before Steve could say or do anything, Tony looked at their waitress with a quizzical smile. 

“No, _signorina_ ,” he replied, with an heavy Italian accent, “I am not him.” Tony reached across the table to take Steve’s hands, brushing his lips across his knuckles. “ _Tesoro_ , who is Tony Stark? Why do the people in your city keep asking me this?” Steve did his best to follow Tony’s lead. 

“He’s a well-known businessman here in the States who has been in the news quite a bit lately, dearest.” Steve tilted his head, giving Tony an appraising look. “I suppose there’s a superficial resemblance. Of course, you’re much better looking.” 

“Oh, I am so sorry!” the waitress apologized. “It must be the light in here or something. Let me get your drink orders.” 

Once she was out of earshot, Steve said, “Dear lord, Tony, have you got big brass ones! And where in the hell did that accent come from?”

“My mom’s maiden name is Carbonell. I spent part of every summer as a child with my Nona. She was an amazing cook. Spoiled me for 90% of the Italian restaurants in the city.” For the rest of the evening, Tony dropped back into character whenever the waitress came by, showering Steve with Italian endearments. He was also quite tactile, playing footsie under the table and holding Steve’s hand whenever it wasn’t otherwise engaged. Steve couldn’t help but drink it all in, even if it were an act for the waitress. 

“I was a little confused when Hogan came to pick me up,” Steve said, after the waitress had taken their orders. He had already told Tony about the conference room delivery incident - how he’d inadvertently met the colleagues/friends that Anthony had told him so much about. Tony seemed particularly intrigued by Mr. Jarvis making the call, but didn’t explain why.

“Sorry about siccing my bodyguard on you unannounced, sweetheart,” Tony replied. “Had to change my plans when I saw the paparazzi circling like sharks. Didn’t want to take the chance of leading them to your place. Swapping vehicles was his idea.”

“And when did he know who he was picking up?” 

“Oh, I told Hap about us a while ago. Got him, Rhodey and Pepper all together and spilled my guts about liking guys and all that stuff. Said I met you online - hope you don’t mind the little white lie. Anyways they were all amazingly cool about it. Rhodey said that probably explained why I hit on him a few times when I was blackout drunk in college.” 

“Well, he is a handsome man,” Steve commented dryly. 

“Should have seen him twenty-odd years ago. Hell, you should have seen me back then.” 

“I like what I see right now, darling. Hoping to see some more of it later tonight.” Steve was afraid he was pushing his luck, but couldn’t help himself. He knew things couldn’t work out between them, long term. But he would enjoy every single moment he could get.

“I think that can be arranged.” Tony replied with a wink. “I still can’t believe you never cyber-stalked me, sunshine. The whole ‘graduated from MIT at seventeen’ should have been a dead giveaway.”

“It honestly never occurred to me to try to track Anthony down that way; and it seemed somehow disrespectful to dig into Tony Stark’s past, especially once we started to interact a little.” It was the truth: Steve despised how gossip rags intruded on people’s privacy and aired their dirty laundry for everyone to see. He certainly didn’t want to be the reason for Tony to get dragged through the mud. 

“You’re a good man, Steve Rogers. I’m not sure what you’re doing here.” Tony said, more serious than he’d been the entire night so far. 

Intentionally taking his statement at face value, Steve replied, “Waiting for what’s supposed to be an awesome burger - and our waitress is heading our direction with a tray full.” 

“You do not wish for more, _carino_?” Tony asked as she delivered their food. Tony had ordered an enormous cheeseburger with onion rings, while Steve ordered a hamburger, ketchup only, no fries. It was partly out of habit as he was accustomed to being a cheap date; but he was also nervous, and his stomach was unsettled. 

“I’m good. Gotta save room for dessert.” As she walked away, he gave Tony a wicked smile. If this were going to be a one night fling, he’d better make it count. “I’m craving something Italian... maybe a cream filled cannoli I can wrap my lips around...” 

As the evening crowd filtered in, the restaurant started getting loud. Steve found it almost impossible to hear Tony over the background noise, despite not being able to take his eyes off him. Even though he had to play a role in front of the waitress, Tony seemed relaxed, genuinely happy to be here with him. His smiles were bright and real; and Steve couldn’t help but smile back. 

“Let’s get out of here, sunshine.” Tony had already paid the bill, but Steve had successfully talked him into letting him cover the tip. As they pulled out of the parking lot, Tony said, “So, I can take you back to your place, or....?” 

“I kinda like the sound of that ‘or’, babe.” 

“I was hoping you’d say that. And, well, I know this is really, really late, but I want to apologize for blowing up at you over the whole tip jar thing.”

“No, Tony, it was my fault,” Steve replied, “I’ve never been good at accepting help, even when I need it. Just ask Sam or Bucky. ” 

“How’s your friend doing, by the way?” Tony asked, eyes focused straight ahead. Steve saw Tony’s jaw clench; he wondered how much guilt Tony was dealing with regarding the attack on the convoy. 

“Bucky’s getting along,” he replied. “Sam has connections at the VA and is helping him out with the paperwork, getting him set up with appointments and such.” 

“That’s good - hey, Stark Industries has an advanced prosthetic study going on as part of our medical devices division. Give me his contact info and I’ll get him into the trials, if you think he’d be interested.” 

Steve suspected that this study was another example of Tony’s expansive generosity, but opted to hold his tongue. “I’ll definitely let Bucky know. Thanks, Tony.” 

“My pleasure - and here we are!” They pulled into a parking garage under what Steve guessed to be at least a four-star hotel, right across from the UN building. Tony reached above the visor and pulled out an envelope. “Good - he got this all taken care of.” He showed Steve the room key and a note from the front desk, addressed to Mr. H. Hogan. “Looks like I’ll be Happy tonight.” 

“I’m shooting for ‘ecstatically satiated’ , but ‘happy’ is a good place to start,” Steve commented. He wished he felt as confident as he sounded. 

Tony popped the trunk, and as Steve retrieved his messenger bag from the back seat, pulled out a duffel bag of his own. They entered the hotel via the garage, then took the elevator to one of the topmost floors. They opened the door to a corner suite with a gorgeous view of the skyline. 

“Give me five or ten minutes, sweetheart. Gotta wash this goop out of my hair.” Tony grabbed their bags and headed for the bedroom. Not sure whether he was meant to follow, Steve instead turned the lights back off and walked over to the window. His mind wandered as he looked out at the bustling city around him. How in the world had he managed to get here, and how much longer could it possibly last? 

He found himself thinking back to how, from their very first call, he’d felt something for Anthony. Their weekly conversations had only cemented the connection, his feelings of friendship and affection. Discovering that Anthony was in fact Tony Stark was both a blessing and a curse; but here they were, trying to make the most of it.

Lost in his own thoughts, Steve hadn’t even realized that Tony was finished showering until he heard a whispered “Hey there, handsome,” and felt arms wrapping around him, a warm body pressing close against his back. 

“Is that a knot you tied in the towel or are you just happy to see me?” Steve replied. He turned within Tony’s embrace, and no, that wasn’t the towel. In fact, there was no towel anywhere in the vicinity. So they were really doing this. Finally enacting in real life what they’d talked about so many times. 

“I’ll be even happier in a moment - one of us has entirely too many clothes on,” As Tony reached out to start unbuttoning Steve’s shirt, he asked, “You’re good with this, right? Getting naked? Informed and enthusiastic consent is kind of one of my kinks.” 

“Yes, Tony. It’s been a long time coming.” Steve put his arms around Tony and pulled him in for a kiss. And now that they were alone, he could make it truly count. Steve was a big fan of making out, assuming his partner was at least somewhat skilled and relatively eager. Tony’s response was off the charts on both accounts. Steve felt an unaccustomed surge of emotion run through him; not just lust (though that was present in abundance) but the desire to protect Tony, to keep him safe, make him happy. This man had somehow become one of the most important people in Steve’s life... and he realized that he was helplessly, hopelessly in love. 

In the meanwhile, Tony’s talented hands had been busy at work. Steve tried not to flinch as he felt Tony’s fingers brush against the ugly ridge of skin that ran down the middle of his chest.

“That’s not from a coral reef, is it, Steve?” The candid way he asked the question made it easier to answer than it had been with other potential lovers.

“Nope - that’s left over from the heart surgery I had when I was seven. Valve repair.” He matched Tony’s forthright tone; expecting him to withdraw, or apologize, as the others had. Instead, he took Steve’s hand and placed it on his own chest, where there was a large circular scar. 

“The suit of armor Yensin and I built to help us escape? ” Tony said. “It had an experimental power source - we didn’t have a chance to do much testing. It got a hell of a lot hotter than I’d thought. Gave me second degree burns - they’re still kind of tender.” His voice was tight, and Steve felt another burst of affection for this brave and compassionate man who had been put through so much. 

“Well, then, I promise I’ll be gentle.” 

“I've heard that from you before,” Tony teasingly replied. 

Between the two of them, Steve was soon as naked as Tony. And while the idea of standing shamelessly in front of the window as they explored each others’ bodies was appealing, they soon determined it wasn’t quite practical. 

“I’m going a little weak at the knees, sugar - how about we continue the foreplay on that acre and a half of bed in there?” Tony interrupted. 

Tony hadn’t been kidding, it was at least a California king, all snowy white sheets and umpteen fluffy pillows. It felt a little intimidating to Steve, like he didn’t deserve to be here. 

“One of us should be narrating the action, sunshine. Just like old times.” Tony stretched out across the bed in a come-hither pose. 

“Sorry, darling, my mouth’s been a little busy. Planning on keep things that way, too.” 

“Is that so? Prove it.” Steve joined him on the bed and proceeded to latch onto the side of Tony’s neck, sucking and nibbling without mercy. He then worked his way down Tony’s chest, carefully avoiding the scar while he closed in on one nipple. 

“Good lord, I thought that tongue was sinful before...” Tony’s hands were running through Steve’s hair and clutching at his shoulders, while his hips started a slow grind against Steve. They were both hard; and something had to be done about that. 

Steve slid a hand down to Tony’s hip and caressed it, the skin smooth and warm. He dropped one more kiss on Tony’s chest, and said, “Be right back.”

“Wait, what, where are you going?” Tony responded hazily. 

“I brought some supplies, just in case.” Steve was sitting on the side of the bed, looking to see where Tony had put his bag. 

“Way ahead of you there, babe. Check the nightstand.” Sure enough, there was a new bottle of lube, a box of condoms, and a package of wet wipes, along with a couple of folded hand towels. “So,” Tony continued, “Part of the medical poking and prodding I endured after my involuntary holiday included all sorts of blood tests, including one pertinent to our current activities. They gave me a clean bill of health.” 

Steve was thankful Tony had breached the subject. “Me too - last test came back negative.” He grabbed the lube and returned to the middle of the bed, stretching out alongside Tony. “Now where were we?” 

“I’m hoping you were about to put your hands and maybe even your mouth all over my prick.” Steve suited deeds to words, drawing a throaty moan from Tony. After about a half-dozen slow, slick strokes all the way up and down, Steve leaned over for an exploratory lick, then paused to read the label on the bottle. 

“Apple pie flavored lube? Really, Tony?”

“Well, being born on the fourth of July and all, I figured you deserved something equally patriotic.” Steve rolled his eyes, determined to wipe the smirk off Tony’s face. He slid down between Tony’s legs, his tongue drawing a slow line from hipbone to inner thigh, enjoying Tony’s wordless response. But instead of the extended teasing he had described in excruciating detail during past phone calls, Steve immediately deep-throated Tony’s cock, taking as much as he possibly could, as quickly as he could. 

Being out of practice, he could only hold it a moment, riding Tony’s bucking hips. He glanced up to see Tony balanced on his elbows, wads of sheet gripped tightly in his hands. “Jesus Christ, Steve, give a guy some warning - you almost brought the festivities to an abrupt end right there!” 

“Well, now, we can’t quite have that....” Steve slowed things down, spending the next several minutes getting to know every square inch of Tony’s dick and balls with his lips and tongue. He had forgotten how much he enjoyed giving head, seeing and hearing the effect every single action had, the sense of power (and responsibility) that provided. But what he didn’t expect was that same rush of feelings from earlier. Steve hadn’t ever been this intimate with someone he truly cared for, and he didn’t want it to end. 

Tony, as Steve knew well, was very vocal with his appreciation, a near constant stream of moans and gasps bursting from his lips, mixed in with words of praise and pleas for more. He also couldn’t keep his hands off Steve, stroking his arms and shoulders, running his fingers through his hair. But Tony never even tried to hold his head in place, push him to take more of his cock. Instead, each touch felt like a gift, almost reverent.

Steve took Tony deep again, this time more slowly, giving himself a chance to adjust to his length and girth. He counted to twenty before coming back up, covering the tip with swirls of his tongue. He glanced up at Tony who was watching intently with a slightly glazed look.

“How you doing up there, dark eyes?” 

“Not gonna last much longer if you keep that up,” he slurred. “So, how do you want to... finish things?” 

“Unless you’ve got something specific in mind, tell me when you’re close and I’ll do that again.” Steve had no problem swallowing, preferring it to the porn staple of a money shot. 

“Good lord, yes, please!” And after a few more minutes of teasing and stroking, he groaned, “ ‘M close,” and Steve took a quick breath before deep-throating one more time. He felt Tony’s body arch and shudder and heard that familiar moan of ultimate pleasure as he tipped over the edge. 

Riding out the aftershocks, he withdrew slowly, then lay his head on Tony’s thigh. Tony made grabby hands in his direction. “C’mere, sweetheart.” He moved to lay next to Tony, who promptly enveloped him in a tangle of arms and legs, burying his face in Steve’s neck. Steve stroked his hair and hummed quietly, while Tony trembled and mumbled something into his skin.

“Everything all right, dearest?” 

“Don’t wanna wake up, find this was all just a dream...” 

“It’s not a dream,” Steve reassured him. “Know how I know that? Because I’m thinking the same thing, and we both can’t be having the same dream at the same time. Statistically impossible.” 

Tony lifted his head and chuckled softly. “Spoken like a liberal arts major - it’s only massively improbable, not impossible. But if we’re getting all philosophical, let me just say you’ve proved one of my pet theories.” 

“What’s that, darling?” This wasn’t the kind of pillow talk he was used to (not that he had much to compare it to), but Tony was continually full of surprises.

“That men give better head than women, since they have direct, personal knowledge of what feels good.” 

“Have to take your word for that, Tony. Don’t have much experience in that area.” 

“Gonna need some clarification there, sweet cheeks. I thought I was the only one who swung both ways in this bed.” Tony’s interest was obviously piqued. 

“Well, there was this one girl...” Steve thought back to Peggy. A foreign exchange student from England, she’d struck up a friendship with Steve in his senior year of high school. He told Tony that they quickly became thick as thieves, and how she eventually admitted to having feelings for him, even though she knew he was gay. Steve had been surprised to find that he returned those feelings, albeit more romantic than sexual. 

But there was that one weekend, when her sponsor family went out of town on personal business and Steve had come over to watch a movie. What had started out as an experiment -- Peggy stating that kissing a girl couldn’t be that different from kissing a boy -- turned into something more intense. In the rush of teenage hormones, they got as far as third base, hands down each other’s pants, aching for release. But in the morning, they decided not to risk their friendship with any repeat performances. They had stayed in touch after she returned home, and still emailed occasionally.

“She sounds like a hell of a gal, Steve. Maybe you can introduce us someday.” Tony responded with a fond smile. And then he shifted around slightly, reaching down to brush one hand along the side of Steve’s still-hard dick. “But we’re not done with the evening... I plan on giving at least as good as I’ve gotten. May I?” Steve assumed that Tony would take his passionate kiss as an affirmative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking this is a good candidate for [ the hotel](https://www.millenniumhotels.com/en/new-york/one-un-new-york/). Perfect location & check out the one bedroom suite pics!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Steve continue their night together. In the morning, a misunderstanding ends up bringing them closer together. An urgent phone call from Hogan and a crisis in Tony's workshop forces them into making their relationship public, but they do so on their own terms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Minor character death in this chapter - but it's one that several of you asked for in no uncertain terms... ;^)

Tony took a firm grasp of Steve’s cock as he responded just as enthusiastically to the kiss. He then proceeded to slowly make his way down Steve’s body, leaving the occasional love bite in his path. Tony showed no hesitation when he reached his destination, licking a slow stripe from root to tip before taking Steve’s dick between his lips. What Tony may have lacked in experience, he more than made up for in enthusiasm as he gave what Steve assumed was his first blowjob.

In contrast to his phone persona, Steve was usually on the quiet side in bed - a habit from years of solo experimentation. But he found himself wanting, no, needing to respond vocally to Tony’s ministrations, even if he felt a little embarrassed by the noises he was making. His hands roamed restlessly over as much of Tony as he could reach, eventually combing fingers through his still-damp hair. 

He was startled when Tony clapped his own hand atop Steve’s, pushing down to force himself deeper on Steve’s cock. He felt Tony’s throat spasm once, then again before he snatched his hand away. That wasn’t what he wanted from tonight. Tony raised his head and said calmly, “Boundary noted. Want to try something else?” 

At Steve’s nod, Tony rose to his knees, motioned for Steve to bring his legs together, then straddled his thighs. He took both Steve’s cock and his own - already half-hard again, and growing more so with every stroke - into his strong and already slick hand. Steve arched up into the contact, feeling the waves of pleasure starting to build to a peak. 

He whimpered slightly when Tony let go, then felt him shifting again, moving up so Steve’s achingly hard dick was sliding along the cleft of his ass. Steve’s eyes flew open. 

“Tony! What are you...”

“I need you, Steve. I want you inside me.” Tony’s voice was husky with lust. 

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” he responded. Tony flinched slightly, and raised an eyebrow. 

“Why do you think I spent so much time in the shower earlier, sweetheart? Besides,” and he waggled his fingers, “I finished up the prep while I was sucking your cock.” He rolled his hips and Steve nearly lost his mind. 

“That’s not quite what I meant,” he said, fighting his own body’s desire. Steve didn’t want Tony to do something in the heat of the moment he might later regret. He didn’t want to lose what they had simply because they were thinking with their dicks. 

“I know,” Tony replied quietly. “But I am ready, really. I trust you, Steve. I have since that first call, when you stayed with me, made sure I was all right. Make love to me, Steve. Let’s finish what we started.” 

“Yes, dearest.” Steve pulled him down for a soft, tender kiss, pushing the word ‘finish’ from his mind. He then stretched an arm out, trying to reach the nightstand. 

“Wait, I thought we said we were good...” 

“Yes, but there’s less mess with a condom, and besides,” Steve admitted, “I don’t think I’ll last long without one.” 

“Good point on both counts, sunshine. Let me.” Tony got up, retrieving not only a condom, but the hand towels and wet wipes as well, setting them to one side as he handed the packet to Steve. 

“So, um, what position should we try?” Tony asked carefully, hesitation in his tone. Steve thought back to his handful of experiences, mostly as a bottom. 

“Actually, if you stay on top, that will give you the most control of - well, speed and depth.” 

Once he was ready, Tony straddled him again. Steve held the base of his own cock, made sure he was lined up, then put his hands lightly on Tony’s hips, while Tony grabbed Steve’s forearms. He watched Tony’s face intently, alert for any sign of distress or discomfort. His lover's eyes were closed as if in concentration; he panted softly as he sank slowly down. 

Steve struggled to remain still, to not thrust up into the hot tightness surrounding his cock. Once he was all the way inside, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Tony’s eyes were still closed, and he was trembling slightly.

“Babe, what do you need me to do?” Steve asked.

“M-m-more,” Tony stuttered. He obliged, with a slow, shallow thrust. Tony’s breathy gasp sounded more like pleasure than pain, so he repeated the motion. Tony’s hands slid up Steve’s arms, as he said, “Need to feel more of you, sweetheart, please.” 

“Come here, darling. I’ve got you.” They shifted so Tony lay on top of Steve, propping himself up his elbows. Steve drew his knees up carefully, changing the angle slightly and was rewarded by Tony’s yelp and ecstatic moan. That meant he was hitting all the right places. They started to move together, Tony’s rock hard dick pressed slickly between them.

Steve struggled to keep control, to not push Tony too far, too fast, but he was already so overwrought that within just a few minutes, he was teetering on the brink.

“Tony, I’m so damn close...” he murmured. 

“Me. Too.” Tony gasped out between thrusts, “More, please!” Steve couldn’t hold back, and thrust fast and hard, heels digging into the mattress. Tony’s keen of pleasure, along with the hot, wet spurting he felt between them was the last push he needed, and Steve came so hard he nearly blacked out. 

“Yeah, so much better in person, sunshine.” Tony said, with an exhausted smile, as Steve opened his eyes. “If a lot sweatier.” He handled the withdrawal surprisingly well, with only a momentary wince and grunt of discomfort. Steve disposed of the condom, then after cleaning up, returned to bed. Tony once more did his best impersonation of an octopus, pulling Steve close and curling up behind him to spoon. 

“Everything feel okay, dearest?” Steve asked, afraid he’d gotten a little rough at the end. Tony’s affirmative hum of “uh-huh” put him at ease. 

His next question, “Was it good for you?” received a more enthusiastic “mmm-Hmmm!” Steve both heard and felt Tony’s breath slow and deepen, and then there was a final three-syllable murmur against the back of his neck. Taking a chance, he replied in a whisper, “And I love you, Tony.” 

 

Steve awoke slowly, disoriented at first by the light streaming in from the wrong angle. The bed was too soft, too large, and .. oh yes... occupied by someone very special to him. 

He opened his eyes, and turned his head to look at Tony, still asleep, arm thrown loosely over his head. He looked younger, more comfortable in his skin. Steve tucked himself into Tony’s side, resting his cheek lightly on his lover’s chest. Tony’s arm came down for an embrace, and he pressed a kiss to Steve’s forehead. “Morning, sunshine.” 

“Good morning, sweetheart. How are you feeling?” 

“A little sore around the edges, but for the best reason imaginable. You?” 

“A little tired, but just peachy.” Steve stretched an arm across Tony to pull them still closer. 

“Hm - speaking of peaches, how about you give me some sugar, sugar?” At Tony’s request, Steve lifted his head, but had to sass him just a little, first. 

“I think the phrase is ‘peaches and cream’, dear.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t say no to a little of that either,” Tony leered, rolling towards Steve. 

But after a kiss that woke him up more thoroughly than a triple shot espresso ever would, Steve was disconcerted when Tony pulled away with a pained, yet resolute look on his face. After looking up at the ceiling for a few moments, Tony said quietly, “I can’t do this anymore.” 

He’d known it was coming, but it still hit Steve hard, a punch to the gut. “Okay, Tony,” he replied softly. He sat up and glanced around the room. His bag was on the table in the corner; he assumed his clothes were still strewn around the main room of the suite. He’d clean up quick, get dressed and be out of Tony’s way soon enough. 

He was moving towards the edge of the bed when Tony grasped his wrist. “Wait... where are you going?” 

“I understand. It’s all right. Don’t worry about me - I’ve got cash for a cab ride home.”

“No... don’t go, Steve. Don’t leave me.” His voice was small, and he held on like a drowning man. Steve turned back to face him. 

“I’m confused, Tony. You just said you couldn’t do this,” and Steve gestured between the two of them, “anymore. I get it, it’s fine.” 

“No, no, no, no, no!” Tony shook his head, eyes wide as he sat bolt upright. “I meant all of this,” and he gestured to the hotel room. “The sneaking around, the lying, the cowardice. The fact that last night, I didn’t tell the waitress the truth. I didn’t say, ‘Why, yes, I am Tony Stark. And this is Steve - my boyfriend. After we have dinner at your fine establishment, we’re going to go ice-skating at Rockefeller Center, or maybe take a carriage ride through Central Park or go up to the top of the Empire State Building. You know, the adorable things that couples in love do.’ ” 

“I don’t want to pretend anymore, Steve. I want to introduce you to Pepper, and Rhodey ... hell, maybe even Obie. I want to hang out with you and Sam and Bucky. I want you to see my workshop - have you meet my ‘bots - Dum-E and U. I want us to dress in matching tuxes and go dancing at a charity ball, show you off to the world.” 

“I don’t know how to dance,” Steve interjected, Tony’s words washing over him.

“Okay, so we’ll stand at the back of the room and make snarky comments about the other attendees - I know you can do that. I want to hold hands with you at an art gallery, walk on the beach with you at sunset; wake up every morning to the sound of your voice.” He stopped, shaking his head. 

“There I go again. It’s obvious I was a spoiled only child, right? Because maybe you don’t want any of that. Maybe you’ve got a great aunt Mildred who will disown you when she find out you’ve caught a case of the Gays. Maybe your boss is a homophobic asshole who would fire you. Maybe...” 

“Tony, stop.” Steve took Tony’s hands in his. “First off, I don’t have a great-aunt Mildred. Even if I did, I’d disown her first for that attitude. And I don’t think I have to worry about my boss either, seeing as his husband brings pizza to our break room every Friday.” He kissed the back of Tony’s hands, and continued. “As long as I get to be with you, it doesn’t matter to me who finds out, or what they say. I love you, Tony.” 

“I know.” 

And as the words escaped him, Tony’s eyebrows shot up, and he clapped a hand to his mouth. “Oh my god, Steve. I can’t believe I just took your declaration of devotion and made it into a goddamned Star Wars reference.” 

Steve smiled fondly as he replied, “I can, sweetheart; your fluency in movie quotes is one of the many things I love about you. ” 

Tony replied, “Well, then - as you wish,” which got them both laughing, and then kissing. But just as things were getting interesting again, Tony’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the number. “It’s Happy - I better get this.” He picked it up and walked into the main room, saying “Kinda busy, Hap - this better be good.” 

Tony returned a few minutes later, his face gone pale. “I... I need to go back to the tower, right now. There’s been an ... incident.” 

They were both dressed and heading down to the car in ten minutes. Tony seemed so distracted that, while Steve didn’t even have a licence, he offered to drive. 

“No - I’ll be all right, sweetheart. Gives me something to focus on. I’m afraid I don’t have time to drop you off - do you want a cab?” There was something in the way he asked that caught Steve’s attention. 

“Would you rather I came with you?” Steve responded. A look of relief washed over Tony’s face. 

“Yeah, I do. Especially if you meant everything you said, Steve.” 

“I did - I’ve got nothing to hide, Tony. I don't care if the whole world finds out.” 

It was a surprisingly quick drive back to 200 Park Ave - they were closer than Steve had realized. They pulled into a private garage under the building, and Steve followed Tony into an elevator. “JARVIS - what’s the latest?” Tony called out as the doors closed. 

“Welcome back, sir. The workshop has been secured, and Mr. Hogan is contacting the authorities.” The reply startled Steve; he hadn’t realized the elevators were wired for two-way sound. 

The elevator doors opened onto a plain grey corridor which ran a short length to a pair of steel double doors at the end of the hall. Hogan was standing there with a woman -- a building security guard, based on her uniform. He was just putting his phone up, presumably having just called the police. “Hey boss,” he said in greeting, then frowned when he saw Steve. Hogan then turned to his companion, saying “Tell Mr. Stark what you told me.” 

The guard was nervous, but spoke slowly and clearly as she addressed Tony. “Sir, I was doing my rounds when I noticed the door to your workshop was ajar. I looked in, and the room was dark. But I could smell ozone, and maybe something burning, so I sent an alert.” She looked at Hogan, as if to confirm she’d done the right thing, and received a nod in reply. 

“Did you go in?” Tony’s voice was clipped, tight. 

“No sir - protocol is to stay out of your workshop unless there is clear and imminent danger to property or human life.” 

“Well done. We’ll take it from here.” The guard nodded and retreated to the elevators, clearly relieved to be done with her role. Tony then asked Hogan quietly, “So you’re the only one that’s been in there?” 

“Yeah, boss. Like I told you, it ain’t good.” 

“You didn’t touch anything?” 

“Didn’t need to - I could see what happened.” Hogan replied. Apparently, someone had gotten into Tony’s personal workshop and caused some trouble. Steve could understand the secrecy, and perhaps why Tony was so shaken, but there was something even more serious going on. “I called it in - the cops should be here in about five or ten minutes.” 

“Go meet the officers in the lobby, explain everything that’s going on, then come on down. Steve, go with Happy for now. I’ll stay here to keep an eye on things.” Tony gave Hogan a meaningful look, then squeezed Steve’s hand. “Sorry about this, sunshine.”

“I wish Tony hadn’t brought you here,” Hogan sighed as the elevator ascended. “Things are gonna get a little hairy. I hope he knows what he’s doing.” 

The next couple of hours were a blur. Steve missed most of Hogan’s explanation to the officers, as he was standing off to the side without a good view of the man’s face. They took the elevator back down to the basement and the officer who introduced himself as Detective Smith briefly spoke to Tony before entering the workshop. 

There was a body on the floor next to what Steve guessed was the armored suit hanging from some sort of hoist. There was an empty place in the chest of the suit, and shards of metal, circuits and glass were scattered across the floor. And to his utter shock, the body was that of Obediah Stane.

Steve shrunk back into a corner as the officers questioned both Hogan and Tony, as well as the original security guard who had been recalled from her post. Someone had placed a sheet over Stane’s body, and techs were examining the crime scene. But it wasn’t at all clear what the crime was, at least to Steve. Some sort of breaking and entering, perhaps; but what had caused Stane’s death? 

“And who is this?” One of the officers had finally taken notice of Steve. Tony came over, putting a protective arm around Steve’s shoulders. 

“This is Steve Rogers. We were having breakfast when my security head, Hogan, called me. I’d promised Steve I’d show him my workshop sometime; but I never thought it would be under these circumstances.” 

“Mr. Rogers, do you have any knowledge of Mr. Stark’s whereabouts over the past eight to twelve hours?” the detective asked brusquely. Steve glanced at Tony, who gave a small, serious nod. 

“Yes, officer, I do. Tony and I were out on a date last night. We went out for dinner, then went to a hotel. He hasn’t been out of my sight since.” 

 

Steve had to testify at the inquest, as he had been at the scene when the police arrived. However, he spent very little time on the stand, and there was no cross-examination. As presented in court, it all seemed straightforward. Stane had entered the workshop after disabling the security system; as the CFO, he had all the appropriate authorizations. He had removed the experimental power source from the suit, and been electrocuted as a result. The autopsy confirmed Stane's cause of death. The device itself had been damaged during the removal, and appeared to have exploded when it hit the concrete floor. 

The press exploded as well, with speculations as to what Stane’s plans had been for the device. Was he trying to destroy it, throwing into disarray the new direction of Stark Industries? Or was he planning to steal the device and sell it to the highest bidder? The latter seemed more likely, as investigations into Stane’s activities during Tony’s absence showed links to arms dealers, as well as evidence of embezzling. This scandal far outweighed any revelations about Tony’s love life, with only the lowest of tabloids publishing headlines like “Tony Stark’s Gone Gay” or “Billionaire’s Secret Boy Toy Exposed”. 

Tony refused to rise to the bait regarding the latter, simply stating in any interviews when the topic came up that his personal life was simply that - personal. But he didn’t shy away from being seen in public with Steve. They actually went ice-skating one evening, then for a carriage ride. Tony took Steve to his favorite Italian restaurant, and Steve brought Tony to the local pub he and Sam (and now Bucky) frequented. They even attended a charity gala the evening after the coroner had closed the Stane case, ruling it an accidental death. 

Steve found out just how potent high-end champagne could be that night, especially when imbibed on a nearly empty stomach. Between the final fitting for his tux, the photo ops before the gala and of course the event itself, he hadn’t eaten more than a few hors d'oeuvres. Steve thought he’d kept it together well enough in the public eye, but found himself crawling into Tony’s lap in the limo on the way home, fumbling with his tie and shirt studs. 

“Too damn complicated,” he pouted. “S’like you don’t even wanna get naked.” 

“Think of it like unwrapping a present, sunshine. Building anticipation and all that.” Tony kissed Steve fondly. 

“What really happened that morning?” Steve found himself asking, unsure where the question had even come from.

“What morning, sweetheart?” 

“When they found Stane in your workshop. You and Hogan were acting all weird.” Tony was silent for a moment. 

“Well, it was a shock to find that the man I looked up to, who was like a second father was capable of betraying me.” Steve knew that was true; but it felt rehearsed, like a sound bite from a press conference. 

“Why did you send me away with Hogan?” It was a dangerous question to ask, but he had to know. 

“Persistent, aren’t you?” Tony responded. “Fine - the arc reactor was just a little beat up around the edges after Obie took it out of the suit, zapping himself to oblivion in the process. But I couldn’t let anyone else get their hands on it. I was afraid if the police took the reactor in for evidence, someone would smuggle it out and next thing I knew, it would be causing as much havoc and instability as all the other Stark Industries products combined. So I blew it up myself.” 

“Oh, Tony...” That reactor had saved Tony's life, and was the centerpiece of Stark Industries' focus on sustainable energy. And he'd had to destroy it.

“Yeah - kinda sucked. But all the plans are right up here,” Tony tapped his temple, “for whenever I’m ready to start over. And now that you know, you have to marry me, so we can take advantage of the whole ‘can’t testify against your spouse’ privilege.” 

“Okay,” Steve replied without hesitating. He kissed Tony, to seal the deal. 

“Steve, sweetheart, you’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying.” Tony protested. But he did know. And he meant it. 

“Fine, darling. Ask me again in the morning, when I’m sober. I dare you.” Steve replied, knowing Tony Stark never backed down from a challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurray - a happy ending - just like I promised!! 
> 
> Part of me is kind of sad this is over, but at the same time, I'm glad to have seen it all the way through. Many thanks to those of you who have followed this sappy, smutty fic from the beginning - I wouldn't have finished without your support. 
> 
> Let me know what (if anything) you'd like to see retold from Tony's POV and I just might put together a couple of one-shots.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Billy Joel's "Sometimes a Fantasy" - this is my first real attempt at Stony and more explicit smut (coming in Chapter 3) than anything else I've written (eek). It's also the first fic I have almost completely plotted/written before I started posting - go me!
> 
> Come say hello over on [ Tumblr!](http://polizwrites.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Words That Will Move Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15426207) by [Politzania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Politzania/pseuds/Politzania)




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